Cherubic Cacophony

An open letter to the mom in Cracker Barrel on Sunday:

Dear Mom at the table next to us,

I understand. I've been there. It seems only yesterday that my gangly 13 year old was a cherubic toddler with white-blonde hair and big blue eyes. I'm not trying to call you out or shame you. I'm here to help.

Because here's the thing. Your child? The adorable, mop-topped little boy that was sitting three feet away from my right ear? He was amazingly, unabashedly, incorrigibly and flagrantly out of control.

I get it. He's maybe two years old. Two year olds are like tiny tornadoes of wanton destruction, if left unchecked. I remember. But the key phrase in that sentence is "if left unchecked." It's not impossible. I promise that you can go out to eat with your family and friends, WITH the unruly one, enjoy yourself, and not be responsible for the burst eardrums and shattered patience of the rest of the diners in the restaurant. How do I know this?

Because I did it. I had one child who seemed innately polite and well-mannered in public. He was easy. But the other one? The one who painted his body in oatmeal every morning? He was a tornado waiting to happen. Please, please, please, please let me help you. It's all about planning ahead and heading off triggers.

• You arrived at the restaurant and were seated. You placed said toddler on the end so that only you could deal with his toddlerness. That's a mistake. 
• Unruly children should be placed between two attentive adults so that one of you can eat while the other staves off attack. It's a quality defensive technique. Trust me.
• It seemed that you brought along part of a hard toy train to entertain your darling. Kudos for thinking of entertainment - that's awesome. However, a hard plastic and metal object that can be used as a projectile may not be your best bet. I'm fairly sure that workmen's compensation doesn't cover the blow to the head that the server took from said train. 
• I found that softer, more malleable toys were less likely to result in legal action.
• I was saddened to watch you hand your precious angel the knife and fork from the rolled up napkin. While your child was perhaps old enough to handle eating utensils, the fact that he took them to be drum sticks was rather unfortunate. I did appreciate the fact that he was trying to belt out a melody along with his percussion accompaniment, but both the pitch and decibel level were so incredibly high that it did preclude any conversation at my own table. I had sort of hoped that when my right ear started bleeding, you might have put a stop to his concert, but unfortunately it only ended when he chucked the utensils into the path of another server. 
• No percussion in restaurants. Teach your children to use indoor voices. It's the only option that works. Practice it. Live it. Embrace it. Everyone benefits from it.
•  It was around 10 am when all this took place. I don't know whether or not you had fed the child anything before hand, but sometimes acting out is just a result of being hangry. This is easy to deal with. 
• I never left my house without a container of Cheerios and a sippy cup of water or juice. Cheerios are like baby crack. They are food, entertainment, learning tools. There's almost nothing a handful of Cheerios can't cure. If your sweet patoo throws them at the wait staff - no harm done! They don't hurt! It's a win-win.
• Speaking of purses - you're the mother of a toddler. You don't get to carry a purse. You carry an industrial-strength bag of monstrous proportion. Inside that bag are all the tools of your trade. The aforementioned Cheerios, a rotation of soft plastic toys, a couple of board books. And for the love of all things holy, paper and crayons. Most restaurants provide them, but you never know when they will be out. 
• Here's the thing about paper and crayons. They're quiet. If baby wants to be a drummer - crayons are great drumsticks - quiet! Plus, if he's drumming on the paper, he's creating art at the same time. Another win-win.
• I was thrilled to see that you did a couple of great things:
• You didn't let junior out of his high chair. Brilliant - the entire Cracker Barrel staff and patronage thanks you. I can't begin to tell you how obnoxious it is when parents let their children do laps around the tables to burn off energy. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
• You didn't immediately pull out some form of electronic device to pacify the child. It did come out eventually, and everyone sighed a little at the quiet, but it wasn't your first option, and I completely support you in that. Your child CAN learn to sit a table and be a darling without electronic devices, but you do have to be strong. 
• Here's my last bit of wisdom. Restaurant behavior (or any public behavior) must be modeled at home. If you aren't sitting down at a table and expecting all your children, regardless of age, to be learning how to act at the dinner table, no amount of diversion is going to work for your sweetie in public. I promise. 
• Have dinner together as a family. Model appropriate behavior. Point out times when your children are doing excellently. Gently correct inappropriate behaviors.
• Even though my kids are 14 and 13, we still do this. Napkin in lap, non-eating hand in lap, sitting up straight, chewing with your mouth closed. Why do we still work on this? Because it is important. When they start dating, their dates will appreciate it. When they go out to eat with a potential employer, they will take note of their manners. When they have children, they'll need to model it.
• It's your job, mom. Please don't forget it. Your job is not to make your wee precious toddler happy all the time. Your job is to teach that child how to grow up and be a functioning human being.

Thanks for hearing me out. You've got the most difficult and rewarding job on the planet, but you're amazing and awesome.

I know you can do this.

Paths

When Derek started Kindergarten, we decided to join a homeschooling cooperative that met three half days per week. Tuesdays and Fridays were for working at home. We loved the idea of it - that he would experience a classroom setting, but we would still be able to retain our flexible schedules and oversee his and Joshua's learning.

After three years of being there, we realized that flexibility was more important to our family than classroom sitting, and we started on our full-time, independent homeschooling path. And lo, it was good.

We have certainly had our ups and downs along the way. But, we found our groove - we made it work. It was perfect for the two years we lived in DC. It's been wonderful for the past three years of building on the boys' tennis foundations.

But this week we started down a new path. Derek set off to join the rank and file of the local public high school. 

Mah baybee's a FRESHMAN, y'all.

Joshua is still at home this year - one last year of middle school for him before he runs off to join the circus starts high school himself. One last year for me to torment him constantly and without provocation.

Oh, who am I kidding. He provokes me hourly.

This is also my last week of having a child who isn't a teen, yet. Joshua will be 13 next Friday - his age finally matching his attitude. I'll be the mother of two teen boys. 

And I'm only 19, myself. 

It's a miracle, yo. Probably has something to do with a rip in the space-time continuum or something. I can't possibly be old enough to have two teen boys. 

Shut up. All of you. I am not.

Anyway - our paths are diverging and remerging and changing and evolving these days. Who knows where they'll end up? 

It sure is fun watching it all happen, though. I may not be old enough to have them, but I sure am thankful that I do. They make growing older so much more interesting than I ever thought it would be.

Eyes on the Prize

It's so easy to get caught up in the here and now with regard to junior tennis. It's so easy to get frustrated and discouraged when your children are so close, so capable, so darned good at it, but they still miss out on their short term goals. We've seen it and experienced it over and over again, and there are days that we wonder how on earth these boys press on.

But they do. They play their guts out and sometimes come up short. They walk off the court in tears and hating the game and never going to play again and then ten minutes later ask when they can play again. They are one billion times stronger than I am.

And so we leave the courts and we cry it out and we talk about the match later when everyone is calm and we look for the positives to carry out of the experience. It's so easy to focus on the negatives - so easy to pick those out, for some reason. Identifying the negatives is important, sure, but the only way to build and to grow is to find what went well, and capitalize on those things.

We are fortunate enough to have coaches who care - who are willing to travel nearly three hours on their own time to watch them play. What a blessing. We are also fortunate enough to have friends on the same journey - farther down the same road - who can talk us down and help us see reality. What a blessing, indeed. 

One of those tennis moms wrote this on my Facebook wall over the weekend, "Junior tennis is unlike any other sport. Watching these kids struggle with their emotions while having to fight through matches with no support from a coach or parent is so hard. I can't help but think it will create self-motivated adults who can think for themselves."

She's right. My heart breaks while I watch them, some days. It splinters into tiny shards of soul-piercing glass to see them fight so hard and end up just a few points away from a win. It shatters to see them unable to break through an opponent's game. 

But somehow, at the same time, my heart swells with overwhelming pride to watch how hard they try - how alien it is for them to give up, even the the face of ridiculous odds. It soars to watch them hold their heads high, take a deep breath, and step back up to the line to serve against a player who is leagues ahead of them.

I don't know where this journey will take them. I don't know how long they'll play competitive tennis. I don't know if they'll peak in high school and just play for fun afterwards, or if they'll end up playing college tennis. We've got a lot of time before that plays out.

But I do know that the lessons they've learned through the process are priceless, regardless of how far they go. The lessons of perseverance and self-reliance - the lessons of mental toughness - the lessons of conflict management on a personal level - the lessons of pushing yourself farther than you ever believed you could go - those are the lessons that create success in any endeavor, and I'm so proud to watch them learn them.

Throwback Thursday

On the left: Joshua at the end of his K-4 year. On the right: Joshua at the end of his 7th grade year. 

Still has those sparkling blue-green eyes, adorable cheeks and the cutest little half-a-dimple ever.

Oh, Brother

It's such fun to watch them have fun.

We are in our last weeks of school for the year, our last weeks of having both of them home for school. Derek's sprouting wings and getting ready to start the process of flying the coop, while Joshua has another year at home with me.

My plan for the summer is to soak up as much time with them together as I possibly can, knowing that it is precious and fleeting. I have a feeling that Joshua and I will be a bit rudderless come August. 

We've done online school for the past year and a half, and have had mixed feelings about it, so when Joshua and I talked about what to do for his eighth grade year, he told me that he'd rather go back to me teaching him, so that he could actually learn a lot of stuff (his words, not mine.) 

I only beamed for 14 hours straight.

Now, my afternoons have been full of course catalogs and curriculum reviews - it's been a little while since I pieced together a year of lessons, but I'm completely looking forward to doing so. 

It's strange. I've never had Joshua at home by himself, really. I had Derek for 20 months - just the two of us, but ever since Joshua came along, the two of them have been tied together. When Derek started Kindergarten, Joshua started K-4 and went right along with him. I'm looking forward to some time spent with my baby, even though he threatens to shoot up past me in height, and I can already borrow his shoes.

In the meantime, I'm just going to enjoy watching them interact with each other the way they do. 

5 Simple Steps to Great Family Portraits

With a combination of a little patience and a lot of planning, taking your family's portrait should be a breeze. Build a repertoire of basic group poses, like the ones here, and you'll be on your way to a fantastic gallery wall of your own portraits in no time!

Let's get started!

1. Location, location, location. Scout out your yard or local park to find a nice area with open shade that will give you even, diffuse light. Avoid getting hotspots on any of your family members by making sure they are completely in the shade, not in a dappled sunlight area. No one wants a shiny forehead.

In the shot below, we headed out to the backyard and found some really great open shade that evenly lit Dr. SmartyPants and Jasper, but I really didn't like the area in the background. Pay close attention to the background! It can make or break your shot. Use the playback feature on your camera to really evaluate what is going on behind your subject.

   

In the next shot, below, I moved my view just a little until the weedy parts of the yard were hidden, and nothing but green grass was showing. It always pays to take a few test shots before you get the whole family involved. Which brings me to point two...

 2. Pre-shoot. Find your most cooperative family member, or members, and place them in your chosen area to set up your exposure and focus. The more you do here, the more efficiently your session will go. Obviously, I chose Dr. SmartyPants - man of infinite patience - for my test subject. Chico did pretty well, too.

3. Arrange the humans. Trust me. If you are including your family pets in the photograph, they need to wander around and sniff all the things while you get your humans in place. This applies to toddlers and pre-schoolers, as well. Get all the non-fidgety people placed, make sure your lighting is perfect, then bring in the wigglers.

4. Shoot fast. There's nothing worse than sitting through a session where the photographer just keeps going and going and going. You've got everything set up already - just take the picture! Use a high burst mode to help you avoid the dreaded blinks of half the crowd - you're bound to get one where everyone is looking at the camera with their eyes open. Just fire off a burst, check your settings, make whatever quick adjustments you need, fire off another burst and call it a day. Trust your pre-work.

Once you've done all that, it's time to move on to the last step...

5. Let them goof off. Finish the session by letting everyone loose. Keep the camera firing on continuous drive and tell everyone you're finished. That's when the real family portraits show up!

See what I mean...

 

Alright - your turn! Get out there and grab some great shots of your own family, okay?

Eyes on the Prize

I love the intensity and focus in his eyes -- there's just no doubt he's going to make perfect contact with the ball.

I find tennis to be the ultimate metaphor for life...

• Work hard with focus and determination, but be still and reflect when you have the opportunity.
• Competitive spirit shouldn't trump fair play. 
• Be polite, even especially to your opponents. 
• Breathe through your anger and disappointments.
• Don't be so hard on yourself. Perfection is unattainable. Mistakes are just growth opportunities.
• When things aren't going your way, fix your mistakes instead of blaming your opponent.
• Sometimes the other guy just gets lucky. Sometimes you do.
• Solve problems as you face them. 
• There's no substitute for excellent preparation. Play hard. Practice harder.
• Find a coach that believes in you and can help you reach your goals.
• At the end of the day, shake hands with your opponent, and wish them luck - even if you lost this one.
• There's nothing wrong with going somewhere private to cry it out. Passion often ends in tears. 

Hang in there, people. Play it out. Never, ever give up.

Edges

When he was really little, I had a hard time getting a focused photo of him. He was all soft and round and perfectly smooth. There were no defined edges for the autofocus to use.

Not any more. He's all angles and edges and sharply defined lines. He's deep black eyelashes and strong eyebrows. He's intense focus and pale eyes and gorgeous freckles.

On the one hand, it means my photos of him are much better.

On the other hand, it means my baby is growing up way too fast.

Throwback Thursday

Christmas 2004...
When open brotherly affection was still the gift of choice.

This Stuff(y) is Legend

These guys. 

They've been around a while.

That's Benn on the left. It's not Ben. It's Benn. Get it right.

In clockwise fashion, there's Steve and Dexter.

Then Baby, in the middle. Or maybe Little Bear. I can't tell them apart. The boys can, though.

These guys have backstories. They have histories. It's one of the great regrets of my life that I haven't had Derek and Joshua write them down for me. 

Benn is actually King Benn. King of the Stuffies. Steve and Dexter are brothers. Or cousins. I can't remember. Their dad is upstairs somewhere. Or maybe it's their uncle. 

Why don't I have it written down?

They come from their own countries, these stuffies. They have waged wars and fought battles. They've rescued each other from certain doom. The imagination that has gone into the care and feeding of these guys is extensive. And these are only four of the dozens of equally back-storied stuffed creatures upstairs.

Every. Single. One. has a name and a story and they all fit in the grand design of two boys who have developed a magical land with its own language and customs and myths (at least one of the stuffies was birthed from the belch of another. I can't remember which.)

Why don't I have it written down?

What a grand tale it is. What a grand undertaking it will be for me to delve deep into the heart of it.  I do believe I've just discovered a project that needs doing - now - before they get so old they forget.

I will have it written down.

Throwback Thursday - Brother Edition

This is me with my brother, Brian, shortly after we'd moved to Guam in 1972. I was 3. He was 6. We were adorable. Derek and Joshua were looking at the picture, and remarking at how big my smile was, and how Brian's looks a little off.

I told them that Papa had probably done something silly, and I was laughing about it, and Brian was talking through it. 

Brian was always talking.

I miss that.

I never thought I would. Some days, his talking drove me absolutely bonkers. He woke up talking and he went to bed talking and then there was all the talking in between. 

Joshua has picked up where Brian left off, though. I'm sure Brian is up in heaven, laughing at the fact that after so many years of quiet, my baby boy is picking up the mantle and running with it. But the joke is on him.

Because I love it. Yes, there are days when I think all the words are going to cause my head to explode. So. Many. Words. But when I hear the constant prattle and unceasing monologue that Joshua provides to my days, it reminds me of Brian and reminds me that there are never enough words. My 21 years of listening to him were just not enough. Each word becomes precious - like a flake of gold or a perfect gem. They can't be replaced and they can't be replicated.

Love you, BJ. Miss you every day.

This One, Too

He's like his Mama in so many ways, but I think he's smarter. He knows things that I can't explain. Gets to the punchline five seconds before me. Too often, our minds run together, laughing at inappropriate times and thinking impertinent thoughts.

But he's smarter. He's smarter because he knows it's okay to be angry. He knows it's okay to express himself - out loud and forcefully, and I never knew that. He knows that love isn't contingent on like. He knows that sometimes I don't like how he's acting, but I always love the heart that is beating inside his chest. He knows that being the younger doesn't mean taking any crap from the older. He knows that crying is a perfectly acceptable response to crushing disappointment and frustration.

And I never knew that. Not when I was 12. Not when I was 21. 

Sometimes, not even now.

But he's teaching me. He's teaching me that emotions are big and loud and sometimes ugly, but they are ours and we own them. He's teaching me that injustice shouldn't go unnoticed - that sometimes we have to stand up and say to the world how wrong it is. He's teaching me that it is okay to feel sad, as long as you can still feel hope at the same time, and that sometimes you just need a good cry to make the world all right again.

And he's teaching me to laugh. To laugh like a child again, without worry that someone will think less of me. To laugh at the silliest things, like 12 year old boys do. To laugh at things that really aren't even funny except that somehow they are.

I love that. I love that. I love that.

A Day in the Life

I get up early, but not early enough. Never early enough. There simply aren't enough hours in the day to do everything I want and need to do. I know I'm not alone in that. We've created a world of moments that fill up too much space and we never seem satisfied until our moments overflow and run out all over the floor in a mess of chaos.

I fix my coffee and walk to the bottom of the stairs to call the boys down for breakfast. They groan and stretch and stomp, stiff-legged and resentful, down. each. stair. to the chairs where their morning blankets are draped and chilled from the overnight slumber.

"Good morning," I tell them. "Did you sleep well?"

"Mmph. Flrgl." They reply.

We hug and snuggle for an all-too-brief moment before setting the breakfast table and eating together. The groggy fog lifts and we start to smile at one another, talking about our agenda for the day. It's carefully choreographed, this life. Each thirty-minute increment marked and labeled. There's little room for wiggling. 

Time to eat.

Time to dress.

Time to study.

Time to learn.

Time to get a snack.

Time to hit the courts.

Time to breathe.

Time to sleep...

and then it starts all over again.

This One

The first. He's like his dad, but not just in how he looks. He has a heart a mile wide and is kinder than I am by a factor of 1000. He's quirky and unique and precious. Precious. That's how people describe him. So many times, I've picked him up from some activity and found him hanging out in the office talking to the adults. Asking questions, sharing stories. 

In a group of mixed ages, he'll be the one with the youngest kids - helping them navigate the waters of the big kid arena. He's sweet and gentle. Encouraging.

I don't know how many times he's opened the door for me as we enter a store and I've gone through, then turned to see him follow. But he doesn't follow. Because there's a large group of people coming and he stayed to hold the door open for all of them, as well. Considerate.

"You look pretty today, Mom." 

"Thank you for breakfast. It was delicious." 

"You're the best Mom in the whole world."

He really thinks that, too. It's not just buttering me up for something. Maybe he's a bit naive.

But I like him that way. He doesn't get worked up about the rest of the world. His drumbeat is internal and steady and completely different from mine. Precious. Encouraging. Considerate. Kind.

My own sweet boy.

Oh. My.

This is the face. Those are the eyes. That's the smile.

Almost 15 years, and he still knocks my socks off...

Ego Trip

Last week, when the Smarty came home from DC, we headed south to see his folks in Alabama. We hadn't seen them since Thanksgiving, and so even though my folks are just another hour and a half farther down the road, we had decided to keep this trip about his mom and dad. I saw my mom a couple of weeks ago, and she and my niece are coming back very soon, so at first glance, that seemed to be the right thing to do.

But, with everything going on with my grandmother, once we got to Birmingham I decided to head on down and pay a quick surprise visit. I severely underestimated the reaction I would get. Let's just say I made my mom cry, I made my dad cry, I made my sister cry, and I made my niece cry.

I was only able to stay a few hours, but it was long enough to have lunch with my parents, visit with my grandmother (who smiled and smiled and smiled) and be with my mom as she met with the home healthcare providers that are going to be helping with my grandmother on weekends. It was long enough to reminisce over photo albums with my sister. It was long enough to watch my niece's dance routine that she used to try out for the high school dance squad. It was long enough to sit and drink a cup of coffee and just listen to my mom talk.

It was long enough to just love my people a little bit and let them know that even though I'm not there in the midst of their trial and turmoil on a daily basis, my heart is there. 

My heart is theirs.

Having a Ball

School is winding down for the year, and we are rather frantically working to make sure we've completed all the work required.

And by "we," I mean me, of course.

There's no frantic in my boys. There's a lot of eye rolling and Dear-God-WhyAren't-We-Finished-Already-ing. If they could just figure out a way to harness all the energy required to keep up the constant sighing, we'd be done already.

One of my children is the most amazing procrastinator I've ever seen in all my life. Please bear in mind that I'm an outstanding procrastinator. World-renowned, even.

He tops me by a mile.

One day last week, he spent five and a half hours doing his schoolwork.

And completed nothing.

NOTHING.

Then, in one three hour session on Friday, completed five science lessons, a vocabulary test and a grammar lesson.

Crazy-making, is what that is.

The other one just gets done what needs getting done. He chips away at it every day, little by little, and has actually completed the required lessons in all but one subject, two weeks ahead of schedule.

We've always said that if we could combine them, they'd make one amazing super-human.

Zombies Play Tennis?

We spent the weekend as we often do - at a tennis tournament. Dr. SmartyPants was not here, so much of my time was spent texting game scores to him, my heart racing, my stomach churning.

It's one of those great joys in life to witness your child living up to his potential, demonstrating the mastery of skills for which you've paid the equivalent of a small island nation's GDP, and getting a win over his opponent. 

It's another thing entirely to witness your child living up to his potential, demonstrating the mastery of skills for which you've paid the equivalent of a small island nations's GDP, and getting his butt kicked in 35 minutes flat.

It is, however, the nature of the game - and of life, quite honestly. So many times, regardless of how hard we've prepared, how mentally ready we are to take on a task, we end up defeated, and how we handle that defeat is what defines us in the end.

My children handle defeat very differently...they handle pretty much everything very differently. Derek walked off the court after his first round loss and said "Well, I played as well as I could have. That guy was just better than I was." 

He was right. He did all the things that he's worked so hard on over the past couple weeks - things that had been problems - things he hadn't been doing well. And he did them well. The boy he played was just better. He was bigger, he was stronger, he was older and he had more experience. Derek could see that and move on.

Joshua won his first round match, although he lost the first set. He buckled down, won the second and the deciding tiebreak and then had to go on to the second round. His opponent was the #2 seed in the tournament, the #11 ranked boy in Tennessee. Joshua actually started out playing really well. He won a few games, lost a few really close ones. But here's where Derek and Joshua diverge - Joshua started getting angry.

He actually started angry. That's his default setting. 

After the match, which he lost, I said something to him about being angry and how it shuts his feet down - shuts his game down, really. (This isn't the first conversation about it that we've had...) I could see the tears in his eyes as he said to me, "You tell me that it is okay to get angry, but then tell me that I shouldn't be angry! I don't get it!"

He's right. I've said both things to him. And I'm right, but he wasn't getting it. I told him to go take a shower, cry it out and come back and we'd talk about it.

I really just needed a few minutes to try and figure out how to explain it. Here's what I came up with:

Anger is an emotion, just like joy or sadness. There's nothing wrong with anger - it just is. But here's the thing...every time you get angry, it's like creating a one-pound brick. There's nothing wrong with that brick - it just is. But once you've created the brick, you have to decide what to do with it.

Ideally, you learn to put it down, out of your way, where it can't trip you up. Better yet, realize that it's just a brick of sand, blow on it really hard and scatter all the grains.

But you can also decide to strap that brick to your leg and hang on to it. Now - one brick that weighs one pound probably won't hinder you all that much, but consider this: It takes losing 24 points, minimum, to lose a tennis set. That's 24 opportunities to create an anger brick. If you strap all 24 of those bricks to your legs, you'd find it hard to move. 

Imagine playing your best game with the equivalent of 24 pounds strapped to your legs. It just can't happen. You have to practice laying your bricks down, pulverizing them and blowing them away.

He thought about it for a few minutes. I asked him if he understood.

"Yes. I get it. It's kind of like in Minecraft? When there are zombies? And if you don't kill the zombie, they spawn more zombies and then you're completely overrun with zombies and you can't do anything."

"Exactly. I think. I have no idea what you're talking about."

"That's okay, Mom. I do."

Anticipation

Have you ever watched something unfolding in front of you and just ached for it to finish already? 

Have you ever wondered at the patience of nature?

Have you ever mourned the time spent straining and becoming and simply longed for the finish?

Have you ever gasped at the first sign?



Have you ever seen miracles take over and do what you could never hope for?

Have you ever grown weary of the battle?

Have you ever been humbled by your own lack of power?



Have you ever watched as those precious hearts for whom you've been given responsibility exceed every expectation?

Have you ever wept as those same hearts are crushed by failure?



Parenting is not for the faint of heart.

What the What?

The Smarty was home this weekend. It was a short visit, but just having him around for a couple of days feels like a cause for celebration. 

We miss him like crazy.

He had some bonus dollars to a local big box electronics store, so he decided he'd take the boys and buy them a new game for their XBox. The only reason they got an XBox was so they could play Minecraft with their nerds friends and talk to them at the same time. Before that, they had to play Minecraft on the computer (which they still do) and talk to their friends on the phone.

So. Very. Lame.

Anyhow... Saturday morning we went to breakfast and to buy some groceries, then ran to the electronics store to shop for XBox games. This is the XBox aisle in the store. There were tons of options to choose from.

Well. There were tons of games. And as long as you are a big fan of shooting people, there were tons of options to choose from.

People. I realize my boys are growing up, and that one of them is technically a teenager, but when I started reading the descriptions on the backs of the cases marked "T" for "Teen", all I could think was, "No."

Here's what I saw...there was a basketball game, a football game and a tennis game. Fine. No problem. My boys just aren't into basketball, football or virtual tennis.

Then there was the chainsaw massacre by a half-naked, busty woman game. And the heavily tattooed and scarred ex-military man with an AK-47 game. And the stealing cars and running drugs game. 

How about the skateboard game? Well, the advisory panel states, "Blood, drug use, crude humor, offensive language." So, no.

But there's a racing game! "Crude humor, offensive language, suggestive topics, nudity."

I don't understand what's happened. I realize that times have changed since I had my Intellivision, folks, but is this really what we've become? A bunch of crude-talking, drug-using, gratuitous-violence-wielding people? Over 100 games on the shelf, and more than 90% involved shooting up either guns or heroin. The other 10% were sports, which would be awesome, except apparently no one plays sports without suggestive overtones or foul language.

We ended up with a Lego Star Wars game (which they already have for the Wii) and an Avengers game, in which the characters fight each other, but there's evidently no blood or naked women. These were the only two games on that entire aisle that I could even consider.

And it just made me sad. 

It made me sad that our children are exposed to so much violence, at such a young age, that it isn't shocking to them. I don't believe that video games cause violence any more than I believe guns kill people. 

People cause violence. People kill people, with guns and without.

But when it's clear that we've turned a corner to a world where the graphic and realistic-looking killing of "people" has become commonplace, it makes me hurt. The world is a violent and scary enough place for kids without adding this on top of it.

I realize that I'm in the minority, and that all my kids' friends have these games and play them. I realize that those kids are most likely not going to grow up and become the kinds of people those games portray. But I just can't do it. I'm sorry, guys...I just can't.

I would rather you miss out on what all your friends are doing. I would rather you be mad at me for making you miss it. I would rather you grow up completely shocked and horrified at what people will do to people instead of blasé and jaded when a bomber sets a backpack full of explosives down at the finish line of a marathon, or when you hear a news story about a murder downtown.

I want you to be disturbed when you hear of a robbery at the local drugstore. I want you to be disgusted when women are objectified. I want you to be dismayed to see what illicit drugs really do to individuals. I want you to be devastated by the evil that people can subject upon other people.

I want you to be like your father, who agrees with me.

I want you to grow up, understanding that life is a precious gift and that there are no second chances at it.