These were the good old days. It was much easier then. (At least I remember it that way). Things weren't so pretty last night. 

  
I became my mom. I was just sitting in the living room unwinding from the day. But from the way words were spinning from my mouth, you'd think I was sitting behind the wheel of a two-tone tan suburban with a tight perm and polyester pants in 1990. The conversation I was having with my daughter sounded like one between my mother and I had been resurrected in the spirit of Halloween. 

All she wanted was a Halloween costume. 

Let me back up. My daughter is into comic books. Recently I flipped through the ones she'd checked out at the library because somehow I had it in my head that they were unwholesome. I guess there's a little bit of violence.  The heroes are, after all, fighting the bad guys. The problem is, the superpower for the females in the book is always the same. They seek justice with nothing more than some crazy cleavage and a ten inch waist. 

They're all sexualized. I realize all male superheroes wear those spandex suits too. (Feminist readers beware:) But I don't think girls look at Superman (in his tight blue suit) the same way the male mind looks at Batgirl when she's barely "holding them in".  

Our daughter wants to be a superhero.  After looking online at costume choices I've been the buzzkill. When our son was Batman (at a young age),  the costume was a felt-feeling kind of material that looked like a one piece pair of pajamas with a cape attached. The costume didn't fit every single curve on his body. Costumes these days, especially for anyone above the age of five, leave little to the imagination.

Let me throw this in. My daughter didn't want to be a sexy superhero. That wasn't the argument. It was how long the pursuit would go on in searching for one that was pure. 

My mom had one rule regarding Halloween costumes. And I thought she was terribly unreasonable. We couldn't be anything evil. This meant that I couldn't use fake blood or those plastic vampire teeth like my friends. I couldn't wear a pointy black witch hat either. I thought this a mild form of child abuse. 

It turns out I'm worse than my mom. I have three rules concerning Halloween costumes. 1. You can't be anything evil. 2. Your costume needs to be cost-efficient. (Would you believe that even some of the low-end costumes at Wal Mart are costing around $30?). 3. And your costume has to be wholesome. 

I know my mom will agree with rule number three, and I'm guessing it would've been her rule had sexualization of children been such a problem  two decades ago. 

I had someone ask me last year how I felt about Halloween with its having roots in darkness. I responded that I'm pretty comfortable with Halloween. We Christians have done a nice job hijacking the holiday. Think about it. The majority of trick or treaters make their way to a church parking lot or gym these days to get their treats. Along with their jolly ranchers and mini packs of M&Ms, they receive dozens of warm  smiles. They usually get an invitation to church dropped into their plastic pumpkin, and more importantly they receive an invitation to know Jesus.  

...put on the new self, created to be like God in true righteousness and holiness Ephesians 2:4

I don't know if you'll dress up this Halloween. I get a kick out of costume viewing Halloween night while eating the best pieces of candy out of my candy bowl. Will you have rules for what your kid can wear? Will you be conscientious concerning you own costume?  

As for me?  It ends up, I'm going to be a female superhero.   I'm going to be my mother. 

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This past week was a doozy. There's nothing I wanted to do more last night than to take a hot bath and go to bed. There's always one little problem with that idea.  The bathtub is in the girls' bathroom. The way they keep things, it's a good chance, that even with a bath,  I'll leave their bathroom dirtier than I entered. 

Their dirty clothes hamper is two steps farther than they can reach. Q-tips, hair balls and empty shampoo bottles are valuable collector items. It's quite obvious somebody brushes their teeth with their mouth open. I'm assuming that's what those dried-foam looking specks are on the mirror. Honestly? I'm just glad they're brushing their teeth. 

Last night I brainstormed ideas on how to get their bathroom clean that didn't involve me muttering angrily while on my hands and knees "Soft Scrubbing" the tub, or my asking them to clean it and then having to call them back five times after they said they cleaned it grumping, "There's still dried toothpaste on the counter ". 

I thought about getting a fold-up lawn chair from the garage and setting it up in the bathroom like a director's chair. I could sit and watch the girls clean, making sure they picked up every empty toilet paper tube (something else they collect). I'd tell them not to forget the five rubber bands that sit along the bathtub's edge. 

No. That wouldn't work either. Three girls in the bathroom at the same time with me barking orders? We'd surely be cross at each other for the rest of the day. 

Bathroom clean up always ends up ugly, or else not getting done at the Burden house. 

The bathroom was cleaned yesterday. It's "cleaned" every week, but by "cleaned" I mean they make sure the toilet is flushed and part with one empty toilet paper tube, throwing it on top of an already mounting pile of trash.  They straighten the bathroom rugs and close the cabinet door. 

Cleaning "at it" is somehow suffice. It's never cleaned to completion. 

I won't lie. I have room for improvement in my own cleaning habits. 

I did, however come up with an idea this morning to aid in the bathroom debacle. I grabbed a pen and a pad of sticky notes out of the drawer in the kitchen. I ran up to the bathroom and began to write every single thing that needed to be done; each on a separate "sticky". 

I didn't take a single task for granted. 

Put the razors and body wash in the caddy hanging on the shower head. 

Clean the mirror with Windex and a paper towel. 

Put your clothes in the dirty clothes hamper...and shut the door. 

I let the girls decide how they would divide the sticky note chores. 

...And I left the house for a meeting. 

An hour later I got a picture from my husband, Jason, of the bathroom looking cleaner than I've ever seen it (when they clean it). 

I didn't have to go in every five minutes to say "Don't forget to clean around the sink". 

In writing the chores down, they weren't made to suffer the agitated tone that they're accustomed to when I call them to the bathroom to tell them something else that needs to be done. 

Writing out each chore separately made the tasks tangible. They could take the sticky off as each chore was done, knowing that they weren't finished until every task was complete. 

It's a little after noon and just one sticky remains. The "I love you" note. We still like each other. AND I have a spot to take a nice relaxing bath should I want to later on, though, strangely, I'm much less stressed this afternoon. 

Sticky notes for the win!!

I'll have to try them for the bedrooms next. Right after I buy more sticky pads. 

Romans 12:18

If possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all.

  
We call her "Bad Dog" because she's passive aggressive and sometimes plain old agressive. 

On Hallie's thirteenth birthday she asked for Mac makeup, an iPhone or a dog. I thought she deserved a four-legged best friend. After giving an impassioned speech to Jason about why we should get her a dog, we decided to surprise her. 

I remember searching for the right best friend for Hallie. I looked at the pictures on the Facebook page of the Humane Society. I used my phone to screenshot the pictures of possibilities. 

"Bad Dog" was one of the first dogs I spotted. I thought she was a cutie. The writer started out calling her "Angel". The next sentence said something like, "Just kidding, she's a bit of a mess. Her name is Ivy". 

Well....anybody knows that the writers of these blurbs make the dogs sound as good as possible. If the dog still wets and messes indoors they say something like "mostly trained". If they're as wild as all get-out, they say something like "playful...or energetic". 

I put "Ivy" on the bottom of my list. (She was cute. I had to give her that.). 

My visit to the shelter still remains vivid in my memory. I had a list of three dogs I wanted to look at. As soon as I walked past the first room where kennels lined the wall, I spotted "Ivy"...out of every dog in the bunch. 

I quickly moved forward, intent on sticking with my list. I asked to look at an Australian shepherd girl puppy I'd picked out online. She'd been adopted the day before. "But we still have her brother," the volunteer smiled. 

I looked at "Brother's" beautiful blue eyes as he was handed to me. I was immediately distracted by the warm, wet sensation running down my arm. Guessing he was one of the  "mostly trained" dogs, I quickly handed him back. I decided to look at dog number three. 

Dog number three was CRAZY out of control. I get it, they grow out of it. But we needed a ready-made potty trained, calm friend. The volunteer asked if there was any other dog we might be interested in. I remembered "Ivy" who'd caught my eye when I walked by. 

We walked back to the kennel-lined room where my ears were assaulted by barks; some shrill, some booming. There sat "Ivy" as quiet as a church mouse with her paws folded in front of her as if she were engaging in morning meditation. 

The volunteer pointed me to a chair in the next room and left to go let "Ivy" out of the crate. The sweet pup trotted to me and climbed in my lap. She curled up and allowed me to rub behind her ears. Maybe she was an angel. I signed the papers. 

She was a tear-inducing surprise days later as she was handed over to Hallie. Ashlee, as she's been renamed, has been a surprise ever since, like the time she chewed up my trusty Sunday black heels. I won't forget one of the first times we had company after getting her. They stayed in the apartment in our backyard. To welcome our company, Ashlee messed on the sidewalk...in three different places. She creatively punishes Hallie when Hallie hasn't performed in a stellar friend manner by doing things like laying on our other daughter's (Rylie's) bed.  

There's one thing that Ashlee does that doesn't surprise me anymore. Her ritual is like clockwork. Every morning when we let Ashlee outside, almost immediately she perches herself in front of the low-lying living room window and she waits. She watches, hoping to catch a glimpse of her best friend (even though she's slept in a crate right by Hallie's bed). She's gives no attention, for that moment, with the morning walkers and the cars zizzing down the street. She's unconcerned. You won't find her looking for the neighborhood cat, "Moot", who struts up our driveway for his daily exercise in taunting. 

  
A loud little thing, this is her time to just be still and silent, knowing she is in the right spot. She takes the time, before facing her day, to be near the one who loves her most. And it's enough. 

Psalm 90:14 Satisfy us in the morning with your steadfast love,

    that we may rejoice and be glad all our days.

Ivy. 

Angel. 

Bad dog. 

Ashlee. 

Evil genius. 

Whatever you want to call her... I call her wise. She knows the one who is there for her, the one who cares for her, the one who is her best friend. And life is best when she remembers this. When she experiences this. And when she sits and waits expectantly knowing her friend is never far away. 

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Every once in a while I have someone who has volunteered to write a guest post. I share these on a segment I call A Thursday for your Thoughts. Today I give you A Thursday for Your Thoughts (on a Friday). It's been that kind of week.  

 A Guest Blog

By Jane Crain

I am Pro-Choice
Before you get all excited or all incensed, let me explain. Much is in the news about Planned Parenthood and the killing of babies (yes they are babies). My definition of choice is choosing not to engage in sexual activity until such time that you are ready to take care of any result of said activity.

Reasons for abstinence:

• Works 100% of the time, no product failures, etc.

• Free-affordable to all

• No fears of pregnancy afterward

So much of our worth is tied to how others perceive us and that includes our relationships. Realize that your body is YOURS and that you have the power to decide what you do with it.  

Choice is also choosing what God has planned for you. He has some good things ahead if you are patient!

Will everything be sunshine and roses? No, but God is with you at all times, even in what you think are the darkest of times.

Jeremiah 29

11 For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.

He is writing to exiles, people who were taken from their land. If he was with exiled people who believe in him, he will be with you if you let him lead you.

Is abstinence easy? No but for me, it was the best choice and I have NO regrets!!!

2 Timothy 2:22 

So flee youthful passions and pursue righteousness, faith, love, and peace, along with those who call on the Lord from a pure heart.

  Jane teaches Sunday school for our high school girls. She's Hallie's teacher this year. I'm thankful to entrust my daughter to someone who will talk about the hard things. Jane and her husband Jim invest an unreal amount of time and energy in our youth. She wrote this post last Saturday morning after attending a youth lock-in. As Jason says,... "She's going to get a bigger car in heaven". 

If you think you might be interested in writing a a guest post, shoot me an email and then I'll talk you into it. Or you could just skip the peer pressure and send me a post.  Feel free to write about an idea that makes preparing meals easier, or cheaper. Give us a heartwarming or funny story.  Write about a struggle you're going through or have just overcome. Share with us something God has placed on your heart, like Jane did. It may be that God intends to place the very same matter on our hearts through you. You needn't worry about your writing style. Just share. Sharing is caring. 

Here's my email. 

kristiburden@gmail.com

Ephesians 6:4 ...do not provoke your children to anger, but bring them up in the discipline and instruction of the Lord.

I read a thought-provoking article not too long ago. An officer was talking about a person he'd stopped who was speeding. I remember little else about what I read other than a rule the officer mentioned he goes by on traffic stops.  He remarked that those he stops for traffic violations are subject to one thing; either a ticket OR a lecture, not both.
"Hmmm..." I thought. "I like it."
Most of the times I've been stopped, I knew good and darned well why. Surely we all get that gut-sinking/caught red-handed feeling when we spot a patrol car and we know we were over the speed limit.

When a cop comes at me with the question "Ma'am were you aware you were speeding?", I usually know.

The last time I pulled over was about two years ago. I was on hour five coming back from my parent's house. I had just driven past the city limits of one of the smaller towns and was in the process of speeding up to seventy.

I saw a cop in the other lane whip around and turn his lights on. I pulled over, still driving, thinking he was after somebody else. I had thought I was in a seventy zone. Turns out I was going sixty-five in a fifty-five.  I explained the misunderstanding. He was unimpressed and gave me a ticket.

And then he lectured me. I remember smiling and saying thank you while I was really thinking,  "The fine speaks well-enough on its own sir." I get it.

I messed up. I'd been ticketed. The lecture was of little benefit. 

I wish the officer who stopped me had followed the "ticket or lecture" method. But more than believing officers should follow such a system I've decided to enforce such a system (whenever possible) in my "momming". 

I've been a both/and kind of mom.  And for years it's sucked the heart out of my message and the effectiveness out of my discipline.

I'm swift-giving when it comes to a ticket/punishment. "Turn the TV off".  "Get up to your room. Move it" "Give me your phone". 

And after I've announced consequences you better bet you've got a long, detailed lecture about why you shouldn't have done what you did and how your actions (or inaction) will probably change the course of your life if you DON'T GET A GRIP AND BEHAVE YOURSELF.

My kids are getting a little older. They know the rules. I've taught them why they shouldn't befriend people they don't know on Instagram and not to interrupt when I'm talking to an adult.

They know that if they've made a few bad grades that they do best to tell me before I find out on that online grading system that knots me up near every time I look at it.

Breaking the rules, in most cases, merits a ticket. I need to take away their phone or a privilege they had or hand over whatever other consequence seems necessary. A ticket speaks for itself in the case of most intentional indiscretions.

If your kids does something they didn't know was wrong, maybe a brief explanation of why their behavior was wrong is in order (key word: brief) 

Like some fragrances from Bath and Body Works, a ticket and a lecture can tend to be overkill.

Of course there are exceptions to every rule. Instances may come up where a ticket and a lecture are in order.

Choosing to ticket or lecture (and not both) will save time and energy. If you're extra long-winded and passionate  like me, it just might help preserve your relationship with your kids.

What's your typical discipline style? Do you ticket or lecture? Or are you guilty of too often doing both? 

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We get to have our Friday lunch today. That makes me happy. We're going for macaroni. 

Here's my mood going in:

I can't get that excited yet. I mean I like noodles, but when I hear the word "mac", I think of processed cheese; the kind with orange powder that comes in the white envelope with your blue box of Kraft,....or Velveeta. If macaroni had a sound word it would be "Glop" which is akin to goulash (I think that's called an onomotapeia). I'm going to give it a whirl because I don't have to cook. And because adventures with food and my best friend are my favorite kind. 

Dat Mac Food Truck is located at 85 N. 11th in Beaumont, though it moves around (like trucks do). You can check them out on Facebook or Instagram to see where they are. Each "bowl" or dish runs about $8. 

Our good buddy Paul told us about it. It looks like they usually have a menu that has around three items which change every week or so. All recipes are macaroni inspired. 

This week Dat Mac is serving 

 Cheesy Chicken Alfredo- 

Served hot, it's bowtie pasta with rich Alfredo. They top it with grilled chicken and fresh Parmesan. So good I want to put on my yoga pants on and take a nap. 

Chili Mac (fancy Frito pie) 

Dat Mac broke the rules here. I would never have thought of mixing corn chips with pasta, but it works. This bowl of goodness is basically a light chili mac with Fritos. I'm a texture snob and dismiss any food that disturbs my delicate palate, but somehow the smooth chili and noodles work with the crunchiness of the Fritos. And my friend, heartburn, hasn't even come for a visit. 

Four Cheese Grilled Dat Mac Sammich-

It's just as big a mouthful eating it as saying the name. Once again breaking the rules, Dat Mac puts noodles on bread (two ingredients I wouldn't have seen in a relationship). So it's like a macaroni grilled cheese. They have add-ons. Jason said yes to all of them. If you can't see, this sandwich was made more beautiful with the addition of fresh jalepeno, grilled red onion, bacon and a fried egg. Jason says "It was a cacophony of guilty pleasures," (By the way, I spelled cacophony without spell help, but I would never have thought of using the word). Oh yeah, they top it off with hot sauce. This was probably my favorite.

Dat Mac. Go by and try it out. This was one of our most unique experiences. 

  
Tip: If you go with two people you'll be able to justify ordering everything on the menu. Jason and I need no such justification. 

Jason and I write occasional foodie reviews. Other times, I write about my blunderful life. Don't forget to subscribe if you want to receive these posts by email.