It was only an hour and a half into the first day of my son’s summer enrichment program when my phone began to ring.

I had dropped him off with high hopes and typical fears telling him to have a good day, make friends, enjoy the activities and just participate a little. I found a Dunkin Donuts approximately two minutes from campus and set up my workspace until dismissal. I was ready in case anything went off the rails.

There I was, nervously working and sipping coffee when my phone lit up and began to vibrate. I wanted to grab the phone and yell, “What happened? …

Yep, I overslept.

It’s 6:45 AM, and I have managed to successfully “snooze” 8 times and now, as I look at my phone, I realize that my son has approximately 6 minutes to get completely ready for school and BE at the bus stop.

I love starting the day with this much adrenaline.

I jump out of bed and run to stand over him, “GET UP, WE’VE GOT TO GO, YOU NEED TO GET DRESSED…NOW.”

I am 99.9% certain that I am more annoying than any alarm clock that has ever been invented. …

House Hunters Now…and Then

Even the first settlers dreamed of walk-in closets.

House Hunters International

With a budget of $500,000, Brent and Ashley are 30-somethings who have decided to take time off from their busy lives by kicking off the dust of San Antonio and planting down secondary roots in Turks and Caicos.

House #1 is four times their budget but has the 360-degree ocean views they wanted and used to be owned by Sylvester Stallone.

Ashley: So house #1 is a little more expensive than we were hoping, but you couldn’t ask for more character. …

What to Do When Water is Pouring Out of Your Ceiling

In eleven easy steps.

You hear water. It’s 6:30 in the morning and you think to yourself, “Man, it is REALLY coming down out there.”

Step One: Head over to the dining room window and watch as the water cascades down the window pane. Nature is amazing.

Step Two: In horror, you realize that the water is cascading down on the same side of the window you are on. You step back and like an offensive hip hop song you see that the water is actually, FROM THE WINDOW TO THE WALL…everywhere. …

How the South Does Death

Once Upon a Time, someone died.

Not only did that person die, but also they died in the South.

Across town, nine church ladies are going about their business when one after another, they get the call. Each one reaches for the phone.

“Ivanelle Wilson died.”

That is all need be said. In a matter of moments, these brave little old ladies are filling the aisles of Winn Dixie or Piggly Wiggly or Kroger. Buggies are being filled with watermelons, corn on the cob, chicken, potatoes, crackers, cheeses, butter and every cream soup known to man. Their mission is clear. …

Kids These Days: Is It Too Much?

Not too long ago I was chaperoning a field trip for my son’s class. We went to a museum that had an authentic exhibit about everyday life in Colonial days.

For those people who aren’t history buffs, this is a time before Cheez-its. People didn’t have cars. Couples didn’t get in fights over the thermostat, because basically, you either had a fire or you didn’t. Also, dinner was whatever had been killed alongside whatever was in the spooky root cellar with the spiders and possibly snakes.

It was a dark, dark period.

One plus, kids ate everything because they literally didn’t know when they would eat again. …

Chicken Salad Relationship Status: It’s Complicated

From an early age, I was taught to eat the food that was put in front of me. No matter what it was. My mother was determined to raise polite girls who showed appreciation as dinner guests. We would roll up to a friend or relative’s house only to be gently reminded by my mother that, “Even if you are served dog food, eat it, smile and ask for seconds.”

My mother was not someone I wanted to challenge. So for years, I ate whatever was served without questioning it, my mom, or the person serving it…no one.

Until one day, I met chicken salad. …

The older I get, the more selective I become about what parenting hills I’m going to die for. Some might think that’s because I’ve grown and matured as a parent and I want my kids to learn about life through their own choices and experiences.

And that answer sounds pretty good so I’ll go with that.

I am pretty sure I envisioned that I would be able to rein in my kids a lot more than I actually do.

In my early years of parenting, I was motivated to control my children based on three things: 1.) their potential for germs, 2.) preventing harm to themselves, and most importantly 3.) what others would think about me as a parent.

At this point in the game I pretty much just aim to keep them alive. The rest is completely negotiable.

Sam spent a good amount of his childhood telling everyone about the time he spent living in the orphanage. Except he called it the “orphan image” which would have been really cute if I hadn’t been slightly offended that he invented such an outlandish backstory. I spent a lot of time trying to psychologically understand why he insisted he had lived in an orphanage. Did he use a pacifier too long? Should I have co-slept? Did he need more Kale? It was finally brought to my attention that every good superhero was orphaned.

I thought about explaining that he could be a superhero and have parents, but, really…why? Fine…be a fake orphan.

I’m just gonna let this happen.

Besides, I started to enjoy the confused looks on people’s faces when he would tell the story about the “orphan images” annual rock day — where all the kids were gifted rocks. Plus, it was apparent the more he talked about it — that we were a definite upgrade in the living conditions department.

Sam has almost exclusively gone to bed with a stuffed animal and a blanket since birth. I monitored his sleeping conditions constantly.

Last Tuesday Wesley refused to go to bed unless I tucked him in with 8 AA batteries. He kept telling me he was making a “perquit” with them. Honestly, I don’t know what that is and I’m embarrassed to ask him because I’m not ready for him to know he’s smarter than I am yet.

Anyway, no Paw Patrol book or stuffed animal could rival the comfort that those “perquit” makers were giving him. So fine. Whatever. Sleep with batteries.

I’m just gonna let this happen.

After he fell asleep I confiscated them because, well, we had remote controls to fill.

Sam’s first Halloween, I dressed him up as David from the Bible, complete with sheep and slingshot.

This year…

Me: Sam, you aren’t going to be a killer for Halloween. End of story.
Sam: I want the Jason mask and the Freddy Krueger sweater…and I want some hatchets.
Me: That’s ridiculous. You can’t mix Friday the 13th and Nightmare on Elm Street. It won’t make any sense.
Sam: Don’t you see, mom. It will make perfect sense.
Me: *at checkout paying for the killer costume* Fine. Be a killer for Halloween. But if anyone under the age of seven asks, you are a clumsy hockey player…got it?

I’m just gonna let this happen.

In all fairness, David was also a killer.

Look, I’m not proud that my standards have nosedived. I want my kids to be kind and respectful human beings. I want them to be happy. I will die for that hill. I want my kids to understand some important things about life.

Don’t be a bully.
Don’t believe a bully.
Remember there are consequences for everything you do.
Think about them.
Be kind.
Work hard.
Be the one who is inclusive.
Congratulate the winners.
Congratulate the losers.
Try hard.
Don’t quit.
Not everything is personal.
Listen at least as much as you talk.
God is always there, talk to Him.
Kill bugs so your mother doesn’t have to.

But so many other things, just won’t matter later and if the last two years with my youngest have taught me nothing else, I’ve learned that it’s impossible to catch, cover and control everything.

Sometimes you have to say…

I’m just gonna let this happen

So dress up as something scary for Halloween.
Be a fake orphan.
Sleep with batteries.

Just let it happen. It will be fine.

Originally published at http://www.rachelwriteshere.com.