Tag Archives: Romans 7

My Husband is The World’s Most Ridiculous Dad

flashback friday

In 2005, we had the privilege of having four, yes  four, count them, teenagers in our house at one time. We thought it would be cool having  six kids close in age so they’d  be friends.  Even if we’d done the math and calculated we’d have teenagers for almost 20 years in a row, two or more teens the majority of those years, we wouldn’t have changed anything. We just might have prepared ourselves a little more for the changes ahead.

When the girls outgrew wearing  Mommy-chosen clothes and wanted to express their own personalities with clothes that were actually in style, it was painful for both sides of the generation gap. Those years of adorable matching outfits sewn by Mommy were definitely over. They had to  wean Mommy from her expectation that her daughters would love her 80’s high-waisted, put-your-socks-on-first jeans.

Daddy, who loved his lovely daughters, but didn’t want the boys to notice how lovely they were,  squawked like a good Daddy about their clothes.  He would have preferred black garbage bags or burlap sacks, because his daughters were his treasures – treasures he wanted to keep buried.

After several discussions, we came to a family understanding.  We didn’t want set rules, because rules stir up theRomans 7 desire to break the rules. We didn’t demand  denim skirts and tennis shoes, but we didn’t want them to dress like Hollywood starlets.   We came up with guidelines. Their clothes had to pass a few inspectors along the way.

1.  The Lord – were they God-honoring?  We tried to instill in our daughters that as Christians they  belong to Him and their life decisions should reflect that. We gave them to opportunity to make wise decisions based on their own faith and conscience.

2. The parents – could we stand their choices?  We didn’t have to like their clothes, but we couldn’t hate them. We gave them leeway  to choose and relieved them from the expectation of looking like us. However, if their conscience didn’t guide them enough, we had veto power.

Daddy’s wisdom in discussing  until we came up with guidelines that pleased everyone paved the way for an easier transition into those years of raising  teenagers. We were encouraged to see the tasteful, stylish clothes the girls chose in their freedom.  They were so good, they started picking out my clothes and providing guidelines for clothes that are flattering  and appropriate for my age. I dressed them when they were young, now they return the favor. 

In 2005, several years after the monumental Introduction of Modern Styles into our household,  Daddy still wasn’t convinced about  low-rider jeans. Usually a seriously minded Office kinda’ guy, the hubbster is known for having occasional outlandish moments that the kids talk about for years and years.

The kids laugh themselves breathless then exclaim, “Oh, Dad, you’re SO ridiculous!”

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This was one of those moments.

He decided to prove how ridiculous low-riders were by trying on our oldest daughter’s jeans.

In front of the whole family.

On Thanksgiving Day.

Not knowing someday I’d be a blogger and reveal all.

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After tugging and pulling and giggling, he got them up this far. (Maybe hubby was  the style inspiration for  teenage boys?)

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Like today’s teenage boys, he found they had to be peeled off.

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But, he wasn’t young and agile, he was an old man losing his balance.  He  humbly begged for help so he wouldn’t fall and break a hip.

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My early digital camera was poor quality, but the blur proves we were busting a gut.

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Toddler Baby can’t figure out why Daddy needs help.  She doesn’t need help.   She dresses and undresses all. by. herself.

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Maybe Toddler Baby is wondering if she should hide her clothes from daddy.  Maybe she’s wondering if he’s going to try on her clothes when she’s a teenager.
Maybe she’s wondering if she even wants to become a teenager.

This episode only proved one thing  – it wasn’t the jeans that were ridiculous.

My children have always declared they have The World’s Most Ridiculous Dad. 

As they mature,  they peel off the memories of their Dad’s ridiculousness and see his wisdom underneath. It’s then they finally understand how treasured they are.

Making your home sing Mondays

I Served Garbage for Breakfast

Earlier in the week I confessed I pick my scabs.
I have another confession to make.

I fed my kids and grandkids garbage for breakfast.

It wasn’t organic,
free range,
gluten-free,
or healthy.

It was just pure,
unadulterated,
delicious garbage.

Sugar Cereal

Health conscience people are thinking,
You DID NOT feed your kids that garbage!”

Sugar freaks are thinking,
“Momma Mindy, why didn’t you invite me to breakfast?

Since you are all judging me,
I know you are because I would be judging you
if I found out you fed your kids this garbage,
but hang with me.
I have a good reason.
A spiritual reason.

Proof.
I’m the worstest Gwamma in the whole wide world.

I’m the worstest Mommy in the whole wide world.

Look, an avid cereal box reader!
Wasn’t that one of the best parts of having what my kids wrongfully labeled
“the good cereal?”

Wheaties and Rice Krispies might taste good and be good for you,
but the boxes were boring.

Anyhoo, back to my true confession
and my spiritual reason.

This is My Romans 7 Rule.

The Law and Sin (New International Version)

…sinful passions are aroused by the law…

I would not have known what sin was had it not been for the law.

15  what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do.

16 And if I do what I do not want to do, I agree that the law is good.

18 For I know that good itself does not dwell in me, that is, in my sinful nature.  For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out.

Confused?

Here’s the Momma Mindy Version:

People wanna’ do what they’re told not to do.
They know what’s right, but can’t do it on their own.

That’s why I had such a hard time coming up with
Rules for Our House.

Rules are good, but they do make people wanna’ break them.
Law incites riots, even around your dining room table.

So, I became tricky.

Instead of saying, “We’ll never drink soda again,”
I  stopped buying it.

My children weren’t warned about white bread,
it just stopped showing up.
First the bread became darker,
then the bagels and English muffins,
then the hot dog and hamburger buns.

Cereals gradually becamer nuttier, grainier and fibier,
(these are my new words for more grain and  fiber)
crackers and nuts replaced chips, and
dried fruit appeared in snack jars.

Romans 7 Rule – Section One

I never say never.

NEVER incites riots and longing of unbelievable proportions.
Even if they hated Captain Crunch before,
they CRAVE it the moment it’s banned.

Foods aren’t outlawed, they just aren’t purchased.
They’ll be served at homes of friends and relatives,
and I want them to eat what’s set before them with thankfulness.
(No food allergies in our family so we can do this.)

If we’re eating according to my standards at home,
but eat a few random hotdogs with nitrates
and Diet Cokes with McDonalds, it  won’t hurt them.

Romans 7 Rule – Section Two

Daddy Overrules Mommy’s Rule

Like many Dads, my hubby loves buying snacks and pop for our kids.
He even fed them cake for breakfast once.
Yes he did, and the kids still love gloating over this event.

I  don’t restrict my husband.
He respects and encourages the health changes,  and I let him randomly buy garbage.
It’s a good balance.

Romans 7 Rule – Section Three

Kids Can Never Say Never

Once my kids say
“I never”  I pay attention.

I learned long ago  Satan loves to wedge these words between kids and parents.

A new believer fervent for Jesus and the Bible,
I was working as a Resident Assistant in a college girls’ dorm.
When sharing my testimony with one of the residents,
she regretfully confessed she was raised in a Christian home.
Her whinings often began,
“I never got to…”
 

Her grievous  litany against her parents was long, and all the worldly things they faithfully
shielded and protected her from, she chased after.

There are some things, by the grace of God, I can never allow my children to do.
But, I know that too many “I nevers” can burden them with undue law.
So, if it isn’t a compromise to the Word of God, when I hear
“I NEVER”
I might do it once,
just so they don’t have so many
“I NEVERS.”

When my kids were feeling sad they NEVER had Easter baskets,
we celebrated Easter. We explained our reasoning why we didn’t,
but that it wasn’t sin to do so.

When my youngest daughter proclaimed,
“I’ve NEVER had Fruit Loops,”
I stepped into Romans 7 action.

Along with Fruit Loops, I bought others she’d NEVER tried.

Yep, I did, I served garbage for breakfast.

I can compromise on cereal,
because I will never compromise on the True Food,
the Word of God.

Rules to Survive My House

I’ve always had a lot of rules for my family.

Rules make sense.

They tell little children how to live.

They also tell big children how to live.

Rules benefit husbands, too, but we can’t talk about that now.

Rules like,

“We write on paper, not walls.”
 
“We eat food, not paper.”
 
“We don’t write on walls with food.”

I have rules for conduct.  I have rules for cleaning.  I even have rules for where stuff goes in my fridge.

But, I guess everyone in my family likes that ol’ motto, “rules are made to be broken.”

It’s Romans 7 in action.  Nobody wants to really do anything until they are told NOT to do it. The Bible tells us because our “sinful passions were aroused by the law.”

In other words, the more you tell people not to touch wet paint, the more they want to touch wet paint.

Like father,
like daughter.

I must be the source of the problem, because there was no way I wanted to sit on that bench in DC until I read the sign that said WET PAINT.  It was a subtle, double-dog dare.

So, the more rules I make, the more my kids desire to break the rules, so the more rules I need to make, to protect the people who VISIT my home, from the people who LIVE in my home and don’t obey all MY RULES.

1.  DO NOT take your shoes off at the door.  Your socks will become filthy.  Only take off shoes if you are willing to spray a little Endust on the bottom of the socks and skate your way through my dining room and kitchen.  Don’t forget the corners.

2.  DO NOT leave your shoes by the door if you opt to polish my floors with your socks.  They will be slipped on by the next random member of my family who has to mail a letter, retrieve something from the van or take out the garbage.  Leave them only if they are size 7 and really, really cute.

3.  DO NOT put your elbows on the table.  Not only does Emily Post consider this rude, they will stick.  Seriously, day old honey or jelly is about the best adhesive known to everybody except Elmer. Ya’ know, the guy who makes glue?

4.  DO NOT use your Emily Post manners. You won’t fit in.  This is proof.

5.  DO NOT leave your towel on the bathroom floor.  The next person will use it for a bathmat or a floor mop.

6.  DO NOT drop by unannounced without a shovel.  You will need it to make a path through the living room, that is also the sewing room, the craft room, the school room,  the dining room and the fireplace room.

7.  DO NOT call ahead for a visit.  I am not that formal.  Besides, then guilt will MAKE me clean.  I love drop by company, just refer to Rule #5.

8.  DO NOT stick your hand between my couch cushions if you drop something, like your cell phone or your wallet.  I value you too much for you to risk your welfare.  You could be poked, scratched, cut with any number of objects, or the crumbs of a thousand sandwiches could wedge under your fingernails.

9.  DO NOT use my bathroom without first checking for toilet paper.  We use a lot each day.  Only 1 out of 8 family members is skilled enough to replace the tp.  If I didn’t get to it and you didn’t check, you’re on your own.

10. DO NOT drink the milk without sniffing it.  If you forget to smell it and there are chunks, I am NOT making cottage cheese.  You have permission to throw it out.  Just rinse and recycle the container.

Above all, make yourself at home.

We want you to feel comfortable.

We want you to feel a part of this crazy, rule-breaking family.

Just don’t put your elbow on my table, ok?

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