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It’s been a few months since I’ve posted.  I won’t make a lot of excuses, but let me just say it’s been busy. 

To catch you up,  Hannah, now 12, started middle school and she is rocking it.  She is one of a few sixth graders in the choir and the jazz chorus.  Eli started fourth grade, turned 10, made new friends and practiced testing boundaries. I started a new writing class and I am enjoying that.  Isaac also had a birthday.  He has been working hard, doing yoga and building a deck. 

It’s been a beautiful autumn in Seattle;  a flurry of bright amber, auburn and russet, offset by stormy skies offering a dramatic mixture of bright and dark.

Each day, Isaac and I struggle to teach our children responsibility.  Put away your backpack!  Do your homework!  Throw away your wrapper.  At times, it feels hopeless, but tonight I am triumphant! 

Hannah and Eli clean the kitchen after dinner.  Not every night, but apparently enough that they feel a sense of responsiblity about it.  We just finished dinner and as we got up, I decided to go ahead and help with the kitchen.  I cleared a few dishes and started to wash them.  Eli came up and said, “Mom, that’s my job.”

Surprised, I said, “Oh.  Okay.  Great! Go for it.”

I went over and started to put the leftover food away in the fridge.  Hannah walked into the kitchen and said, “Mom, that’s my job.”

“Okay.  That’s great!  Thanks.”  I stepped away and stood watching my kids getting to work.  With a positive attitude and some skill.  It was pretty awesome.

As I sit writing this, I hear destructive-sounding crashes and petty squabbling as they finish their jobs.  I am biting my tongue to keep from yelling.  No doubt I will soon decide to raise my voice in response to some sort of flare-up.  None of us are perfect.  But I am seeing progress.  And it’s good.