One of the most prized electronics in our house is my husband’s tablet computer. He originally purchased it to keep track of appointments, have a remote Internet connection and other business-related functions. My tech-loving sons had different ideas as soon as they saw it. After all, it looks like a giant smart phone, so they knew it had serious entertainment potential right away. Because the hubz has a soft spot for all things nerdy and loves to pass his passion for technology on to the boys when he can, he quickly gave in and introduced them to “the tab.”

Before I knew it, they were all playing learning games, running the Netflix application and having an awesome time. The hitch, of course, is that there is one tab to be shared by three eager little men. So, we have some strict guidelines on when each can have a turn and daddy has the say-so when they get to have it, because he still needs it for business purposes.

The cool thing about my kids’ adoration for the tab is that it’s a strong motivator to behave. Losing their tab privileges really brings them down, so one mention of that consequence and naughtiness is usually quickly curbed. I swear, it works better than Santa or the Easter Bunny.

Last night, however, my eldest was in rare form and didn’t want to give the tab to his little brother when his time was up. Even after Jax was at the helm, Ky just wouldn’t stop pestering him. The short story is that he lost his privilege for today. So, he went to bed angry at the injustice.

This morning, he got up and dressed and walked right past me without a word. I figured he was still upset about losing his tab privilege, so I just let it go. A few moments later, I hear him talking to his dad, who was mid-shave and completely distracted. Now, if he was truly focused on what Ky was saying he would have quickly realized he was being played like a piano, but I guess not cutting himself was splitting his attention.

Kyan: Hi, daddy, I love you.

The hubz: Morning, dude!

Kyan: I can’t wait to play the tab tonight. Can you help me with the word game?

The hubz: Sure, it’ll be fun. It’s a date.

Kyan (running to me in excitement): Dad and I are going to play the word game tonight on the tab!

Me: Um. You lost the tab for today. Remember?

Kyan (with look of triump): Yeah, but daddy said it was okay!

Me: Yeah. No. No tab tonight, but nice try. Don’t ever do that again.

Kyan: But…

Me: Nope.

Kyan: Ughhhh. No fair.

I stayed cool on the outside but my blood was boiling; our son was trying to play the loophole angle; the tab is dad’s. When my husband joined us in the dining room I explained what just took place and he shook his head, knowing he’d been played like a pawn. He sat down with our boy and explained that trying to get a different answer from the other parent isn’t acceptable and that his feelings were hurt. In addition to losing the tab today, he wouldn’t be able to play with it tomorrow either. I was kind of surprised by how well my husband handled the situation, because I was just shy of totally ticked off and am usually the heavy when it comes to discipline. His reaction not only made my son really regret that he’d tried to a pull a fast one, but diffused my attitude and refocused me on the lesson.

I knew the day would come when our kids would start playing these little games, but I didn’t think it would be so soon. I’m very fortunate to have a husband that really backs me up and can keep cool when I’m hot under the collar. Parenting as partners sure makes life a lot easier and really shows the boys we’re in it together — even when daddy’s toys are at stake.

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When you have more than one kid, you know that eventually they’re going to argue over this or that, from what show to watch to who’s turn it is to choose the bedtime story. Little squabbles over who had the spy kit binoculars first are bound to happen. There are going to be spats over who gets the first or last cookie. Parents know this, just as they know that they’re going to be the referees when these little tiffs pop up.

What blows my mind is that these little battles can start over some of the weirdest things. Things that literally stop me in my tracks and make me ask, “Seriously? Are my kids nuts?” Sometimes, it’s easy to diffuse these strange situations easily, like when tensions rise over how long each kid gets to ride daddy piggyback or who gets to pick his new toothbrush first. But other things just make me scratch my head.

One such logistical nightmare stems from our heat vent. Yeah, that’s right. The vent. In the winter, the vent in our dining room has some sort of magnetic pull for my children. When the heater kicks on, we’ve actually had full-on pushing matches erupt out of nowhere over who gets to plant his tiny tush on the vent. I know what you’re wondering. Do you only have one vent in your house or something? The short answer is no. There are vents in every room in the house, but what makes this one particularly tantalizing to the boys is that the dining room vent is the only one that is on the floor. Every other room has a vent on the wall, so you can see, it’s much harder to bake your buns just anywhere. The dining room vent is the household hot spot. Truly.

So, when the heat kicks on, the boys have random arguments over who gets to sit on it. We’ve tried dressing them warmer, which shockingly has apparently nothing to do with it. We’ve tried banning anyone from sitting on the vent. That didn’t work. We’ve tried drawing them to other vents around the house. No dice — not the same. We’ve tried having them share it, but honestly, only so many butts can fit on one vent. We’ve tried divvying up the blast of warm air, but it’s hard to gauge how long it will be on. We’ve even tried to set up a rotation, which for some reason works for most things, but not that darn vent. Apparently, it’s just so awesome they lose all control over their willpower. It’s a tiny rear magnet.

I don’t know why they’re so territorial over such a weird thing, but it stands to reason that they know something I just don’t. I’m starting to think it has some sort of mystical power that only children can sense. What I do know is that the vent madness lives on and is driving me crazy. Do your kids squabble over strange things in your house, or am I just particularly lucky?

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In my early 20s, before I was blessed with my three little noisemakers, I was a lot less cautious than I am now. I was never a huge risk taker, but I didn’t spend a lot of time thinking through the pros and cons of some of the simpler things, like driving on snowy roads or hiking off of marked trails. Winter weather didn’t keep me from traveling 15 miles to the grocery store or climbing a steep hill to snap some wicked pictures off a bluff overlooking a raging river.

When I became a mom, that all changed. I find myself thinking through everything and always erring in the side of caution. If I can find my way around leaving the house when the streets are blanketed in powder or can avoid dangerous, though thrilling, circumstances, I’ll do it. My life is no longer my own. I live for my kids, now.

Some may argue that the same can be said for marriage. Once you say “I do” you’re bound to another and no longer living solely for yourself. I agree in most part, but the difference is, in a childless marriage, your partner is often taking the risk with you. And, should something happen, he or she will grieve, but they’ll still be able to take care of themselves.

When you have children, that’s simply not the case. My husband and I are our children’s lifelines. They are dependent on us for everything from food and shelter, to guidance and unconditional love. Never in a million years will a meeting or gallon of milk outweigh the importance of my kids’ need for their parents. Never again will a spectacular view be more beautiful than seeing my kids’ sleepy morning eyes and whacked out bedhead. Keeping myself safe is part of the job requirement because my kids have to have their mommy.

I thought that I would miss the little risky things that I knew I’d have to walk away from when I got pregnant, but I really don’t. Making safer decisions for another day with my little stooges is easy and gives me peace of mind. I owe it to them to stay safe and sound.

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Watch what happens when one mother’s little calf falls into a pool of water and can’t get back out on its own.

Amazing right? The mama and her pals don’t panic; they just jump into action, trying everything they can to get that little elephant out together. I’m not ashamed to say this video brought a tear to my eye. Never underestimate the power of a mother and her friends.

I think this video is a prime example of what they mean by the African proverb: It takes a village to raise a child. Sure, the main responsibility of raising a child falls to his parents, but without a great support system and the life experience that comes with learning from others, it would be an extremely difficult job. Having a support system to help, love and nurture is a necessity for every parent and child.

It’s easy to raise your head with pride and say, “I (or we) can do this on my (our) own,” but as these elephants have shown, even parenting is easier and just plain better with those who love and care by your side. I can’t count the times that my friends and I have had to call on each other when we were in a pinch, whether it was picking up one of our kids from school or lending a few bucks in an emergency.

The animal kingdom, elephants and humans included, was designed to not have to stand alone in parenting. When we stand together, there’s nothing we can’t do, and our children are all better for it.

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When I was a kid, one of the things I loved most about my dad was that he was always looking for teachable moments and did his best to point them out. He never treated my siblings and I like we were too young or immature to explore the world around us or learn new things. He taught us whatever and whenever he could, from changing a diaper to how to hold a hammer the right way for the best leverage. And one of the things I’m most thankful for was that he never chose which lessons he thought we should learn based on our genders. Not only can my brother wash a mean sink full of dishes, but I can change the oil in my car, and we both know our ways around a Dewey Decimal System.

Giving kids the opportunities to learn about the world around them and how to do new things shouldn’t have anything to do with their genders. Throwing gender out of the equation opens up the doors of knowledge to your children regardless of whether something has been considered a man or woman thing in the past. When it comes to everyday living, life skills, and academics, there’s simply no such thing. Children’s capabilities to take care of themselves and others, and excel in any subject in school has absolutely nothing to do with whether they have a Y chromosome or not. What I know, or can do, doesn’t make me any less or more of a woman. But, it does give me the skills I need to live the life I want without relying on others around me, which I think was exactly my dad’s long-term objective when I was looking at beetles under magnifying glasses and measuring the windows for new curtains.

As the only woman in a family of five, I’m very intentional about how I conduct myself at home and what I teach my sons. I want them to know how to do everything that both their dad and I know how to do. And, it’s equally important for me that they see that I can change the tail light in the minivan just as well as their dad can make a bed or bake a cake. I feel that it’s my duty to honor the most important lesson my dad ever taught me: the capacity to know and do is not limited by gender. Ever.

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The other day I overheard a conversation between a mother and her tween daughter in a store. The daughter wanted something, but the mom said no. Instead of living with the decision, this girl threw a full-on tantrum in the store.

She was calling her mother every name in the book and making a point to be as embarrassing as possible. This wasn’t an uncontrollable emotional outburst. It was the girl’s way of telling her mom, “This is what you get for telling me no.”

When I was a kid, I would have never talked to my mother in that way or did anything even remotely like that in a store. It wasn’t because I feared any kind of physical repercussions, but simply out of respect and good manners.

She was my mom, and while I may not have agreed with her decision, she had the final say…period. I don’t know if it’s the influence of television, parenting styles or just what’s in the water, but many children today just don’t have the same manners and respect as previous generations.

I admit that even I’ve had the occasional public outburst from my children, but they were short-lived. I had no problem pulling up stakes and heading back to the car, and it’s left an impression. You wail…we leave. I have always prided myself in making sure my children are well-mannered, and they are most of the time. They still have their moments, but they are kids.

When I saw that little girl, I thought about how she is going to be in 10 or 15 years. Would she regret how she treated her mom or will this whining and complaining become a permanent part of her personality? I know there are things I regret doing as as a kid, and hope that little girl learns to appreciate the sacrifices her mother no doubt makes for her on a regular basis.

The mom finally had enough and escorted her daughter out of the store, leaving a cart full of items drifting in the aisle. Game. Set. Match.

What are your thoughts on this girl’s behavior? Do you think parents aren’t putting enough focus on manners and discipline? Share your thoughts!

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My youngest son is  testing his independence lately, and even the smallest of tasks is met with a determined “Let me do it” attitude. Whether it’s opening a granola bar or pouring his own juice, if I dare to help, I’m in for a five minute pout-fest and many times a flat-out refusal to take whatever it is that I’m offering him.

Every day these little episodes creep up, and as annoying as it is to admit, the problem is more mine than his. Sure, it’s obnoxious when he runs off in a huff after I try to hand him the cup of chocolate milk he was just begging me for, but I know I have to modify my behavior. I want my kids to be independent and be able to take care of themselves without needing me for every little thing, but automatically taking care of their needs is a hard habit to break. I have, after all, been filling sippy cups with chocolate milk for the last 5 1/2 years.

And, of course, there’s the time and mess involved. I might accidentally spill a drop or two, but when my  2 1/2-year-old pours a cup of milk, it’s almost a sure thing the process will take an extra minute or two and there’s going to be some cleanup involved. It’s hard, especially when I’m in a hurry, to fight the urge to just go ahead and get it over with quickly, rather than taking the time out to let him prepare his own drink.

Besides having to make a conscious effort to stop myself and let him figure the little things out on his own, I have to fight that natural urge to do everything for my baby. With my older boys, it was easier to let them start taking care of little tasks on their own and, in fact, I encouraged it. Any tiny help they could give me, even if it was opening their own pudding cup, freed my hands up for a few more seconds. When you have three children under the age of 6, those precious seconds are helpful.

With my youngest, the urge to do it all for him is very strong. In my head, I know he’s old enough to start chipping in by doing simple tasks for himself, but in my heart, he’ll always be my baby. Accepting that my baby isn’t a baby anymore is a lot harder than I thought it would be. I figured the transition would be as smooth with him as it was with his brothers, but despite his precocious nature and the fact that he’s clearly ready, it’s hard to wrap my head around.

My youngest son is starting to learn how to take care of himself, little by little. As proud as I am, it’s difficult to change my mindset and take the step back to let him become the independent little man he’s eager to be. While we both have a long way to go until he’s completely on his own, it’s still hard to accept that my baby won’t be a baby forever.

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When I became a parent, I knew things were going to get a little crazy. I had always been a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants kind of gal, but now everything requires a plan. There’s no more getting up 30 minutes before heading out the door or making spur of the moment decisions.

When the littles were babies, there were bottles that needed to be washed, diapers to be packed and what seemed like an endless to-do list just to get out the door. Slowly, things became more routine and what initially seemed like chaos became a normal part of life.

Pretty soon, the bottles were gone and it no longer took three hours just to go somewhere. It got easier, and decisions didn’t have to be made a week ahead of time. It took a little planning, but things seemed a tad more carefree…then came school.

Suddenly, I have one child in full-time kindergarten who needs to be up at 7 and out the door by 8:45, a second in part-time preschool, whose class starts at 9:30, and the youngest who stays at home with me. They have parent-teacher conferences, open house, market day, fundraisers, party volunteers, and on and on and on. Plus, there’s something coming home in his backpack at least twice a week providing information about some new, wonderful, gotta-be-there activity at the school or in the community.

Chaos has returned. Now, everything needs to be planned far in advance because I never know what might be coming up around the bend. Being a parent of school-aged children requires expert scheduling skills and the ability to think on the fly. My world not only has to be completely ordered, but completely flexible.

It’s inevitable that the spa day I scheduled three months in advance just happens to fall on the same day and time as that pee-wee football league game or the teacher sends a note that they need volunteers for tomorrow’s Valentine’s Day party.

My remedy is a daily planner that’s big enough for me to make plenty of changes, additions and deletions. I tried going electronic, but it just didn’t work for me. It was nice that my husband and I could sync our calendars, but typing on a small screen just isn’t the same as crossing it off the list.

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When I was growing up, my dad was very strict about discipline. If he said we were grounded from something, there was no doubt in our minds that he was serious. He was always fair about making sure the punishment fit the crime, and he always had a knack for hitting where it hurt, like taking away phone privileges or the keys to the family car. Once a punishment was set, there was no turning back. We were going to tough out our sentence and begging, pleading or throwing a tantrum was only going to make it worse. At the time, I didn’t understand why he was so firm, but, as I grew older, it was a clear that there was a method to the madness.

As a typical high school student, I spent more time with my friends than I did at home. One pal, in particular, opened my eyes to just why my dad was so strict about his discipline. He wanted it to work. He knew that if he softened up after he’d given us a clear consequence to our misbehavior, that we’d stop respecting his authority. In my mind, that was inconceivable. Dad was dad, and his word was law. If we got in trouble for some shenanigan or another, it never happened again. This friend of mine clearly demonstrated what could happen if a child didn’t respect her parents’ authority. I watched her get in trouble, time and time again, but never ever have to deal with any sort of repercussions. Sure, her mom would talk a tough game, but when it came down to it, my friend knew that she’d never really enforce a grounding or early curfew. If there were no real consequences, why would she be motivated to clean up her act?

Kids will be kids, and mistakes will be made. After all, they’re learning, with our help, how to be responsible and make good decisions. It’s our job to guide their conscience by setting clear expectations and enforcing them with reasonable discipline if those expectations aren’t met. When they’re young, we’re the voices in their heads saying, “Don’t do that, it’s not safe.” As they grow, they’ll use that built in “mom” in their head to make the right decisions and avoid situations that could break bad and put them in some sort of danger.

None of us like to feel like the bad guys, but we have the life experience and wisdom to know when certain behaviors or actions can lead to real trouble down the line. It’s as much our duty to enforce reasonable consequences for bad behavior as it is to love our kids through everything. In fact, as my dad taught me many years ago, that discipline comes from love. He wanted what was best for me and to ensure that I had a clear idea of what was right and wrong. He taught me that every action has a consequence, good or bad, and I had to live with those consequences depending on the choices I made. Setting limitations and expectations and following through on given consequences can be hard, but it truly is for their own good.

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One of the superpowers bestowed on a mom is the power to smell trouble. I’m not speaking figuratively here, either. I’m talking about sitting in one room and smelling naughtiness in another.

This super sense of smell starts with pregnancy. All of a sudden, everything wafting through the air is enhanced and either makes us ravenously hungry and want to feed our little passenger or repels us so we get away from things that aren’t good for us, like cigarette smoke, chemicals or our mother-in-law’s fish tacos.

Then when the baby is born, our sensitive schnozzolas tune in on baby-related smells. We’re enchanted by the scent of baby powder and the sweet smell of their tender, little tummies after a warm bath. On the flip side, when a breach of etiquette (otherwise known as spit-up) should happen to grace the back of our sweaters or the tiny troopers have dropped some bombs in their diapers — in the middle of the shopping mall, of course — we know to make hasty exits and remedy the stinky situations.

At the toddler phase, our noses actually amp up their games. Mothers’ noses have evolved to become naughty detectors. Toddler mischief is no match for our super senses of smell. We can smell when trouble is brewing from rooms away. If the kids have gotten into our spice racks — we know. If they’ve been sampling our perfumes — they’re busted. Peanut butter mural on the fridge? The jig is up…all thanks to super mom noses.

I’m interested, as my kids grow up, in how the super sniffer superpower is used. Does it fade or will we be able to detect potential boyfriends and girlfriends from miles away?

As moms, we have to be ever-vigilant of potential trouble for our kids. One of the most powerful weapons Mother Nature has gifted us is our extraordinary powers of smell. When there’s trouble in the air, a mom’s nose knows!

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