Friday, April 12, 2013

Words

My parents had 8 children.  I'm the youngest. Naturally, after they had the perfect child, they didn't need to have any more. :)  Growing up, I don't remember getting into a lot of trouble (aside from coughing up my own money to get a boys coat cleaned after I laid it in a mud puddle and stepped on it).  My bedroom  was always clean (except for Renae's stuff, of course). I am certain I didn't throw big temper tantrums (probably just small, minimal, insignificant ones), and if my memory serves me correctly, I always obeyed my parents--promptly.

When it came to weeding the ginormous garden, or chores around the house, or even the paper routes, I completed each task with a song in my heart because the words from my great grandfather (that if we memorized, we were paid a whole quarter--which I probably wasted on that muddy coat cleaning bill) sunk deep into my soul:



So, clearly it's no surprise that I am shocked when my own children (with those perfect genes) misbehave, or make a mess, or disobey.  I'm not sure if we're just dealing with a "phase" or if my kids find my constant nagging hilarious, so they deliberately leave their toys scattered about the house and then sit and wait for me to explode.

Needless to say, I feel like I need to redecorate my house with these words painted all over my walls:





But before I can get to the walls, the toys and games need to be put away...

...with a song in my heart of course... ;)

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