Seasons

*I must have written this last year, or much earlier this year and for some reason didn't publish it until finding it as a draft today*

 To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:

 A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;

 A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;

 A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;

 A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;

 A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;

 A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;

 A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8   

I'd say right now I am not in the season of having a clean home. I am in the season of teaching boys to do chores and become responsible, preferably without whining or complaining if possible. Which also means I am in the days of broken dishes that slipped out of soapy gloved hands and explaining the difference between "kids' clean" and "Mom clean" and when each is acceptable, expected, or demanded.

I'm in the season of learning and reminders of manners, such as "help that lady," "hold the door,"  "don't interrupt," "use your napkin," and "please remember to lift the toilet seat."

This is the season of growing pains, growth spurts, hormonal outbursts (from both me and the boys), a teenager who takes forever in the bathroom and constantly buying new clothes and shoes. 

The season of loosing sneakers with no idea where they are for weeks (yes, plural- weeks) and stepping on legos barefoot even after being promised they were picked up. 

For getting a driver's license, a debit card and a summer job. Of stressing out over final exams, karate tests, and "someone told her I have a crush on her!" along with other pre-teen and teen embarrassments.

These days I find myself saying, "stop torturing the dog!" "Stop instigating!" "Don't jump over the back of the couch!" "Did you do your homework?" and learning that they say, "I love you," in not so many words any more but in many varied ways compared to a few short seasons ago.

Counting down from 100 and back again in funny voices when the youngest can't sleep. Texts, inside jokes and contests to see who can sing the fastest. Reading the scriptures, philosophical chats that last late into the night and cups of cocoa while looking at the stars and sitting wrapped in sleeping bags, no matter what time of year it is. Boys sharing whispered secrets way past bedtime and wrestling and making amateur claymation movies with my video camera and Play Dough by day.

These are the signs of my season with not-quite-so-young sons.