When I was pregnant with my first child, Zach, I made a statement that came back to haunt me. It was in response to the outpouring of unsolicited advice I received from experienced parents.

Parents who’ve been around the block a few times tend to offer a lot of advice to newbies: “Put a hat on that baby—it’s cold outside! Don’t let him suck his thumb—it’ll make him buck-toothed. And make sure you enjoy every minute because time flies!”

I’ll admit I’ve been guilty of saying that last sentence to new moms myself.

One thing they told me was how much I’d need regular breaks away from my kids to keep my sanity. I honestly felt mortified when I heard that—and I openly disagreed with them. After struggling with infertility for seven years, I couldn’t imagine I’d ever want to be apart from my delightful little blessings.

Granted, my kids are delightful. But now that I’ve been in the trenches a while, I get it. Nothing resets a mom’s Happy Meter like a date night with the husband, a ladies’ night out, or a weekend trip away. So, needless to say, I have eaten the words I uttered in ignorance.

That experience makes me reluctant to share what’s on my mind this week. Because here I go again, talking about uncharted parenting territory, acting like I know what I’m talking about. I’m afraid that I’ll soon be asking someone to pass the honey mustard to help me choke this statement back down.

But I’m going to say it anyway: I really don’t think the teenage years are going to be as awful as everyone has warned me.

It’s hard to believe, but my oldest son turns 14 tomorrow. So we already have one year of adolescence under our belts. And parenting my way through it was not scary at all. Now, I think that’s largely because Zach is a pretty awesome kid. I’m not going to say he’s perfect, because he’s not—no child, or parent for that matter, is perfect. He has his faults. We all do. But overall, I am just so proud of him, so thankful for the man I’m seeing emerge from the boy I’ve loved so dearly. I look at him sometimes and know that God must really love me, to have given me a kid like him.

Everyone said that teenagers are moody. Mine’s a little moody—but I’m worse than that even without PMS. They said he’d be sarcastic, that he’d talk back. Yeah—I’m afraid that trait got passed down on my DNA and pretty much reared its ugly head in each of my kids as soon as they started speaking.

Which, if you’re reading this, Zach Apted, is not an excuse for that behavior. We all need to work on controlling what comes out of our mouths.

I’m sure we’ll be facing new challenges once he’s able to drive, and works away from home. Just the thought of those things makes my heart sink a little. I guess that extra freedom could bring with it the terrible battles everyone says I should brace myself for?

Maybe it’s my naivety speaking, but I just don’t think the teenage years have to be a nightmare for any of us. Zach even has great friends, people that are likable and kind. He does his chores, and helps with his baby brother, and when I told him about a group of Ugandan orphans, the first thing he wanted to do was send all of his money to them. And then he brainstormed for days about other ways to help them out. That kid truly has a heart of gold.

So does it have to tarnish? Is it truly inevitable that the teenage years are turbulent and full of strife? I’m just not believing that it has to be that way.

No one ever told me that I’d enjoy my older kids as much as I do. So I plan to continue on, optimistically, hoping for the best. I might have to eat my words again someday, but don’t pass the honey mustard just yet.

(Can you tell I’m procrastinating on a project?) LOL

But first, a pic from my files, because what fun is a blog post without pictures?

That’s my cutie-pie Zach when he was about two. I am still in denial that he is >THIS< close to turning 14!

Now, on to the questions…

1. How did you cope with your biggest heartache?

By writing about it, and by talking with (and looking for opportunities to help) others experiencing the same.

2. Who was the last person you visited in the hospital?

It’s been so long, I don’t remember. I’m thinking it might actually be my grandmother, who passed away in August 2010!

3. How many jobs have you held in your life? How many of those were part of your chosen career field?

I am not up to counting how many jobs I’ve had — but there are a lot! Starting with Dairy Queen at age 16, to now, freelance writing from home and also doing face painting and cake decorating for birthday parties. My chosen career field was graphic design, and I do still use my art degree to some extent. But I only held two “official” graphic arts positions — one as a graphic artist in an in-house agency in Kissimmee, Florida and the other as an art director at a small sign company in Georgia.

4. How did you discover Saturday 9?

By searching Google for Saturday-themed memes.

5. If you could take the train from anywhere to anywhere, where would ‘anywhere’ be?

From here to San Francisco for a little vacation.

6. When was the first time you cooked for someone else?

I remember cooking for my family when I was about nine or ten. I remember the stove top being at chest level as I did so!

7. What is the worst beverage you’ve ever tasted?

Ooh, just one? I can’t decide on just one. Weak coffee or tea. Mint tea. Malta. That cucumber-flavored Thai version of Coke that they serve at the World of Coca-Cola in Atlanta.

8. Is there anything in life you are “certain” about? Firm in your beliefs? Strong in your convictions?

There are so many things I’m certain about. God loves us all. He has a plan for my life and works all things together for my ultimate good. Salvation comes through belief in Christ. Caring for orphans and widows is everyone’s responsibility. Liberal political policies that appear to help ultimately cause more harm than good. And I should probably just stop because I’m an opinionated ol’ girl and feel quite certain about a whole lotta things!

9. Do you know anyone who has as very unusual pet?

Yes, several. More power to ‘em! Nothing in the rodent/insect/reptile/amphibian categories will ever be called a pet in my house. (Sorry, kids — I just can’t do it!)

How ’bout we close with another picture of my cutie from that day at the park?

They serve toast, popcorn, pretzels, jellybeans and ice cream sundaes.

My dinner plate with slightly burned cheese toast — just as I like it — on a fun, turkey-printed paper plate. They only had plain buttered toast in the Charlie Brown special, but I figured we could use a little protein!

I’m always busy cooking the night before Turkey Day, so having something so simple and fun for dinner is ideal to me! And the kids just love this little tradition. This was the first year that Jonah really knew what was going on. When he first saw his dinner plate, he did a double-take, as if he couldn’t believe his good fortune to climb into his chair and find a plate heaped with popcorn, pretzels AND candy! I couldn’t even get him to sit down for a while — he just stood there, happily shoveling popcorn into his mouth.

I love my family! And I love Thanksgiving!

And yes, I love my crazy husband with his totally goofy expressions!

In other Thanksgiving news, just for fun, I had the boys fill in a turkey poem prompt as part of their schoolwork this week. (Each sentence began with phrases to describe the turkey, such as, “It needs….” “It moves….” and they filled in the rest.)

What they came up with just cracked me up! Disturbing? Maybe if you aren’t accustomed to the ways of boys. And these sons of mine are utterly, totally, testosterone-charged BOYS!

Here is Zach’s:

It sees the gun in its face.

It hears the pump cock.

It feels the shiver down its spine.

It understands that it’s going to become dinner.

It moves left to right.

It needs to get out of sight!

It likes to get an adrenaline rush.

It wants a chase through the woods.

It eats one last berry, for good.

It dreams, asleep forever. It’s dead.

And Eli’s, with a rather humorous twist:

It sees the bazooka from far away.

It hears the bazooka fire.

It feels scared.

It understands its death.

It moves out of the way.

It needs pie.

It likes man.

It wants the man.

It eats the man.

It dreams good.

The end.

It’s a drawing and letter from one of our Compassion International kids, 5-year-old Aphichara from Thailand.

Isn’t the Thai writing just beautiful? (Of course, at 5, she dictated this to an adult who wrote it, then another person translated it for us.)

Her nickname is “Eye.” (Please don’t ask me why, because I have no idea what it means! LOL) One Thai friend suggested it might mean “shy”, another said it could mean “big.” According to what I know about her so far, she is neither shy nor big, but maybe one day, she’ll tell me herself how she acquired that name.

This is the first picture we received of her. Isn’t she precious?

And this is one that came with our new letter. She’s with her grandmother, smiling and her haircut is so cute!

I learned that Eye lives with her grandparents,  is 44 inches tall and weighs 39 pounds. Her favorite foods are watermelon and boiled eggs, she has a pet dog, she loves singing, and is very talkative in school. And I got a girly-girl! She also loves playing with dolls, her favorite flower is jasmine, and her favorite color is PINK!

I finally have a reason to buy paper dolls and sparkly princess cards and Hello Kitty stickers — all PINK!  LOL And I can use the previously-neglected girly accents in my photo editing…

I first learned about Compassion through Amanda’s and Kristen’s blogs, and was mesmerized by these moms’ stories about their sponsored children. They spoke about how much their families’ lives have been enriched by the relationships they’ve built with these children, and even told about going on trips to visit them. And I felt that all-too-familiar tugging at my mother’s heart to get involved.

We are not rich by American standards; if anything, we are on the poorer side of “middle class.” So it was a stretch financially to take on any new commitments. But God has shown me again and again that He blesses those who give, so I don’t have to be afraid to share a portion of our budget in charitable giving. I love how Compassion uses our small offering to be Jesus’ hands and feet to a needy, hurting child and her family, to bless them in His name.

I’m not writing about this to pat myself on the back. Rather, it’s to share about our experience and hopefully encourage others to do the same. It’s so easy here in America — where even our poorest live richer than most of the world’s population — to dwell on what we don’t have, to envy those who are wealthier than us and simply not think about the realities of living in extreme poverty.

But we need to think about it. We gripe if our clothes are more than a year or two old, not considering what it would be like to own exactly one outfit and no shoes. We buy expensive filters to further purify the already-clean drinking water that flows from our tap, while others walk for miles to bring home one pail of questionable-quality water. We get mad if the restaurant cooks our steak wrong, while others are just thankful to have a bowl of rice, only on some days of the week. We complain that we need a bigger bed, while half the world has never had the privilege of even owning a mattress.

We think nothing of dropping substantial sums on life’s frills, such as cable TV, a cell phone upgrade, or taking the family to the movies. But in India, a family of four tries to live on $37 per month, in a house built of mud, with dirt floors and a grass roof, like 12-year-old Basu, our correspondence Compassion child.

We were matched with Basu when I learned of Compassion’s correspondence program. If you truly can’t afford to sponsor a child (or another one, as the case may be) you can ask about being matched with one just as a pen-pal. Some kids, like Basu, have sponsors that pay the monthly sponsorship but for various reasons, never write. These kids are so disappointed to never hear their name called on mail day! So it’s an honor to be able to encourage them through prayer, letters and by sending things like stickers, paper airplanes, greeting cards and basically anything else made of paper that kids enjoy having. (The “paper only” rule is due to postal regulations.) We might actually ask for another correspondence child or two, because writing to them really is so much fun!

I waited to tell Zach and Eli about Eye and Basu until our first day of homeschooling this year. I wasn’t sure what their reactions would be — they’re great kids, but I thought they’d be all hum-drum, oh, mom’s found us another hobby, OK, whatever…

But I was delightfully, blessedly, humbly wrong. I’m sure I’ll write more about this in the months to come, but they were both completely enthralled with “adopting” these kids into our family. They immediately wanted to know how they could send them money, then asked a dozen questions about each child. Then they wanted to look up information about Thailand and India, and promised to pray for them daily. And they have honored that promise– a few times I’ve forgotten and they’re like, “Mom — we have to pray for Eye and Basu!” And then we do. It’s been utterly heartwarming to see their generous spirits further expand and to read the letters they so carefully wrote for each of these children. It has given my sons an entirely new perspective on just how blessed we are and how much we all have to give.

Please — click the link in my sidebar to learn more about Compassion and to see some of the cutest kids on the planet. And if your heart feels stirred as mine did, prayerfully consider that maybe God is also nudging you to sponsor one of those precious little souls. The needs are just so great, and we can help — we truly can — if we are willing.

“For everyone to whom much is given, of him shall much be required…” ~Luke 12:48

Our normally chaotic household of five has been reduced to a family of three this week. It has been so very odd, and so unusually quiet, with Eli in Florida with his grandparents and Zach away at camp. Poor little Jonah keeps toddling around, asking for his “Zzzat” and “E-la-la” and I know he must be wondering where the heck they vanished to. Of course, not even two yet, he doesn’t understand their absence.

The experts tell us that toddlers can understand twenty times the number of words they can say. Since Jonah says around 80 different things, I suppose he can understand thousands of words and maybe on some level, he does comprehend that he’ll see his beloved brothers again in a few days?

Regardless, I know I’ll be glad to get back to our usual craziness. I miss feeling the energetic presence of my older boys. Even when they’re holed up in their room, playing video games, I can still feel that they’re here. And the house feels so empty without them.

My husband has had a particularly rough time of it, as this is the first time we’ve ever had both older boys away from home at once. Several times since we dropped Zachary at camp Sunday, Donnie has commented, “I don’t know if I’m going to let this happen again.”

And he said it again last night as he did the dishes, although then there was a practical reason for missing his sons. He and I never do the dishes anymore, having delegated that chore to the boys ages ago.

I’ve had to pick up their chores as well, feeling their absence when I have to feed the pets morning and night, when the dog needs letting out, and when I’m trying to work and there’s no one here to entertain Jonah for half an hour.

I don’t just miss the work they do—right now I’d love to hear a silly knock-knock joke or get a fierce, skinny-armed hug from my nine-year-old. I might even welcome a sigh and eye-rolling from my teenager, which is bound to come if he ever reads this.

On the long drive home from camp, as Jonah dozed, Donnie and I talked about the reality of having an empty nest someday, and how fast our kids are growing up. In just a few years, it won’t be a matter of Donnie deciding if our older sons can be away from home at the same time—they just will be. And realizing how much we love them and how much we dread that day, well—it was really all quite depressing.

This week has been a sample taste of what we’re raising them for. After all, we don’t raise kids to have kids forever—we bring them up in the hope that someday, they will leave home. It’s our goal that we end up with confident, strong adults who can stand on their own two feet, independent of their parents.

So we have to encourage times like this, even if these separations make our tender mama-and-daddy hearts ache a little—or a lot.

I couldn’t decide if I wanted to smile or cry when Zach wanted to hurriedly usher us out the door of his cabin. All last week, he couldn’t talk about anything else but getting to camp. When we arrived, a group of his friends called out of the window, “Zach is here! Zach’s here!” and he eagerly joined them as they ran off into the woods like a pack of gangly-legged, pimpled puppies.

And I realized how much my boy has matured since his timid little preschool days, when he cried each morning as I dropped him off. Sunday was one of those moments where I figured we must’ve done something right as his parents, for him to feel so confident this first time away from home without family nearby.

This morning I cuddled my little Jonah, thankful that my youngest son pushes back the time that we’ll face a truly empty nest. Raising them up, then letting them go—it’s what parents are supposed to do. But oh, how precious and very fleeting are these childhood years.

Perfect Attendance.

Good Citizenship.

Honor Student.

Reading awards! Writing awards! Math awards! They’re everywhere! But hey, when my kids were in school, I bragged about them, too.

In all honesty, it is one of the bummers about homeschooling. Though we have groups we attend and the kids are involved in extracurricular activities, their school-years scrapbooks are going to be rather devoid of any official certificates declaring how smart, creative and friendly they are.

But I guess I really don’t need a piece of paper from a practical stranger to tell me those things, and I don’t really need a certificate in hand to comment on how awesome my kids are.

Because I have this blog and I can tell you now: they are pretty darn awesome.

When I hear someone share, “My kid got an award for having all ‘A’s'!” I want to respond, “My kids got all A’s, too!” Because it’s true: we make sure the kids have mastered material before moving on. And we don’t waste time on “fluff” or busy-work that makes for easily-earned 100′s in a grade-book. Homeschooling acceptance has come a long way, but still…somehow, people often count an “A” from a mother as less-valuable than an “A” from a schoolteacher.

When I hear, “My kid earned a certificate for perfect attendance!” I think, “Mine did, too!” Because they were here every single day we had instruction…all 180 of ‘em! LOL

And then there are those who remark about how hard their kids worked to earn their honor student accolades. I’m sure that they did work hard. Unfortunately, articles like this one and this blog mirror other studies I’ve read that state a dismally-increasing number of college freshmen require remedial classes—even those who were considered at the top of their class in high school—which leaves me wondering whether “honor student” credentials from a school still mean what they did even 20 years ago.

One of my kids has a friend who always says that homeschooling is so easy compared to the work he does at school. I can see how it might appear that way, but every homeschooling kid I know is a hard worker.

Not only that, I haven’t met many traditionally-schooled 7th-grade boys who can successfully learn Latin roots with a toddler climbing up his leg and shoving jellybeans in his ear! Talk about learning Life Skills! LOL

So as the end of our school year at home approaches, I want to publicly pat my boys on the back and let them know how proud I am of them.

Well done, boys—well done.

1. Jonah’s royal cuteness at the church’s egg hunt last Sunday…

Mmm! Jellybeans!

2. Painting faces (and arms!) at the egg hunt. It felt great to do something artistic again and the kids were so delightful!

(Only my son would think of asking for a snake that says “Hi!”)

3. I lost a pound last week. Which at first didn’t make me smile, because I thought I should’ve lost more. But then I picked up a pound of butter and realized that was gone from my body and Lord willing, it wouldn’t be coming back. And then I was OK. If it has to come off one measly pound at a time, so be it. Even at a snails’ pace, a year from now, I’ll be 52 pounds lighter.

4. Finishing this week’s column. It was a particularly hard write this week, so clicking “send” felt just wonderful!

5. Hearing that my sweet friend “H” delivered a healthy baby boy yesterday. He’s adorable and I get to go sneak a cuddle tonight or tomorrow!

6. Mom’s Night Out with some good friends last night. Always a great time, basking in estrogen instead of the flood of testosterone I’m bathed with daily!

7. Eating REAL food at MNO! I’d saved up almost a whole day’s worth of calories and I enjoyed every single crispy breaded bite! And then experienced bonus joy when I came home and entered what I ate and saw that I didn’t go over my daily allotment.

8. Jonah pausing while nursing himself to sleep last night, to smile contentedly and say “Mama…” before dozing off.

9. My friend Amy sharing with me the link to this adorable Resurrection Set craft ! As the creator of it says, we put up nativity sets at Christmas. How come no one has resurrection sets at Easter? So this week, we’re making one!

10. The following dialogue yesterday:

Eli, digging through his basket of candy after the church’s egg hunt: “Oh boy! I didn’t realize I got Reese’s cups!” (Reese’s are the holy grail of candy around our house.)

Zach, drooling, sans candy because he’s too old for egg hunts: “Oooh! I want one! I want one!”

Eli: “Nope.”

Zach, bargaining as always: “I’ll get you a police car on our Xbox driving game…”

Eli: “OK!” and hands over the candy.

Me, curious as to what’s involved in earning that game car: “So, what does it take for you to get a police car???”

Eli, without missing a beat: “You have to give your big brother a Reese’s cup…”

Jonah wanted Zach to hold him while we were doing school the other day. Zach is such an awesome brother…he just picked him up and kept on working like a grown-up would!

And on the other side of the table, we have Eli, otherwise known as The Shirtless Wonder!

(As in, “I wonder what happened to his shirt?”) Yes, most of the time, we run a very casual homeschool.

People often ask, “What do you do with Jonah while you’re teaching the other two?”

Well, we’ve come up with a couple of effective solutions. First, we put him in here:

Sometimes the cat squeezes in too, and they have a really good time. When Jonah gets bored with the buffet cabinet, we stow him under the computer desk. He prefers it to diagramming sentences or doing long division.

(I probably shouldn’t have to include this disclaimer, but there is no latch on the buffet door, and the clear panel is flexible acrylic, not glass. So it’s harmless to let him crawl in there. And I don’t really make him diagram sentences or do long division. He’s far too busy multiplying fractions and memorizing the periodic table.)

Last week, we started some seeds in the hopes of having a vegetable and herb garden this summer. Eli is planting parsley seeds into a little mini-greenhouse thingie.

Hey! He’s wearing a shirt! Amazing!

Zach made a 94 on his Vocabulary From Classical Roots final exam he had last week. And Eli made 100 on his Learning Language Arts assessment. Eli’s reading has really taken off, and I often find him with his nose in a book, which is something new for him. Both kids are still maintaining A-averages in math as well. I am proud!

Little Jonah is following in their footsteps. Tonight, after I got home from the grocery store, Donnie brought Max’s food container into the kitchen to refill it. Jonah saw the food container and started saying “Max…Max!” I never realized he noticed the cat’s food container before, much less that he knew it belonged to the cat. At the moment, Jonah calls most food “Nana”, because he has bananas almost every day and loves them. So when Donnie started pouring the food, Jonah said “Nana–Max–Max–Nana!” He knew that was Max’s food!

I may be totally prejudiced, but I think that’s pretty smart for a 16-month-old.

Well, I’ve done it. I’ve officially joined the Moms of Teenagers Club. I wasn’t ready for this membership, but is anyone ever ready for something so major?

It isn’t like we get to choose whether we join. I had to sign up when the moment arrived, which was exactly 4:22 p.m. on January 30th. That’s when my son Zachary turned 13, a number I can scarcely believe represents his years on this earth.

Because it honestly feels like not long ago that I cradled his teensy body in my exhausted arms, marveled over his tiny fingers and toes, and fully understood why the nurses laughed when I announced I’d take my labor induction without an epidural, thank you very much.

My mom says I’ll wish there was a mental epidural for the next five years, and I think I’ve already tasted a small portion of the angst that would make me welcome such a medication. I keep telling my son and myself that the teenage years don’t have to be horrid; there are good teenagers on this planet and puberty doesn’t have to be a constant battle like the media portrays it.

Or anything like the way I tore through my adolescence. But I was stubborn, sarcastic and rebellious. Toss in wildly raging hormones, and let me tell you – I was just a little ray of sunshine to my parents – a pure delight to be around.

Luckily, I married a man who actually did delight his mother with his behavior as a teenager. Donnie never got into trouble, never felt the need to party, did as he was told and got along with everyone. I can’t express how much I hope my sons turn out like their father.

Because the thing is, if you had to choose which of us, based on our home life, would’ve been the problem child, it shouldn’t have been me. Donnie’s parents divorced when he was five and his father was absent most of his life. His mother worked full-time, and as a struggling single parent, was often unavailable both physically and emotionally. His mom hardly ever knew where he was, what he was doing or with whom, yet from somewhere he mustered the integrity to stay on the straight and narrow.

I had the classic businessman father and stay-at-home mother, who will celebrate their 46th wedding anniversary this spring. They took us to church and kept close tabs on who I was with, and where. My grandparents lived around the corner and were actively involved in my life. But I was the one who made multiple wrong choices as a teen, following the pack into trouble. Go figure.

I’m encouraged by the caliber of friends Zach invited to his sleepover Saturday night. These boys were pretty awesome, and I want to send a shout out to Will, Tyler and Ryan, to thank them for being such great houseguests. I hope I can always feel so favorably toward my sons’ friends.

I’d also like to thank everyone who contributed to the special scrapbook I made for Zach’s birthday. I asked friendsand family to offer words of advice and encouragement to help Zach navigate his way through the next 13 years, and I was completely overwhelmed and blessed by the notes people wrote.

Most contained advice to listen to his parents, work hard and trust God with everything. But more importantly, this collection shows my new teenager that he’s surrounded by a crowd of people who’ve got his back, who only want what’s best for him and are cheering him on to become the man he was created to be.

I know we’re entering the stage of life where my husband and I become the least-cool, dumbest people on the planet. So I hope that if Zach ever needs to talk to someone other than his parents, he’ll choose someone from that scrapbook to help him along the way.

This new stage of life feels so slippery and perilous, like that moment of trying to wedge into an inner-tube atop a steep waterslide. But there’s only one way to reach the bottom, so I’m going to hang on tight and try to enjoy the ride!