Flying

The summer just flew by!  So many of us are thinking, if not saying that right now.  Friends who teach in Columbia county, Georgia are back at school today for pre-planning.  Other teacher friends will return next week.  Back to school sales have been happening since July 4.

Perhaps your summer has been and continues to be filled with cookouts, lake trips, and pool time.  You have attended weddings and family reunions.  Maybe time has flown this summer because someone you love is ill or friends have been in dire straits.  Home improvements, jobs, swimming lessons, and summer camps may have filled up your calendar.  Whatever the case, maybe you are like me - just now looking up and thinking "What? It can't be July 31."

When a writer takes a three month hiatus, you might think it is to go on retreat or participate in a workshop.  My unintended break ended up to be to:

 1.  Watch my middle son graduate
 2.  Travel to Italy and Austria
 3.  Resign my job in Georgia
 4.  Pack my house
 5.  Move to Iowa
 6.  Unpack into a new house
 7.  Start a new job
 8. Begin navigating a new town

In a sense, this has been both a retreat and a workshop.  I felt overwhelmed at times by the emotions of packing up fourteen years of life and love.  Saying goodbye to friends to move somewhere new is astonishingly difficult even in the digital age.

No one means to let time fly past, but it does.  Most of us talk about seizing the day, being mindful, making the most of every minute.  And we try.  And sometimes we succeed.

You may be like me - experiencing a big change over the course of a season.  Your season may not be shifting for a while.  Maybe the impending start of school dictates adjustments in your routine.

No matter when life shifts and changes, I am reminded of something I used to say to incoming freshmen:  "Remember that this is not a means to an end.  You don't do high school to get into college to go to grad school to get a good job to make money so that you can retire and grow old and die."

It really is the journey.

CCChanges...

“He who fails to plan is planning to fail.” –Winston Churchill

About ten days ago my middle son embarked on an improved diet.  He has modified his starch choices, upped his leafy greens, and diminished his sugar intake.  It’s a good, healthy modification.  He is the lone vegetarian in our house, and although I have never left him without supper or meatless alternatives, he has undertaken to make his own meals. 

One of the things he immediately realized is that he needed some help from me.  He told me what he was doing, and solicited my support – in the form of buying some groceries we don’t usually have on hand.  Almond milk.  Red quinoa.  He told me what he wanted, and I gave him my card to make the purchases.  He couldn’t find one thing, so he asked if I would try to find it next time I went to the store.  Done.  He thanked me and asked where I had found it.  I told him.  He was grateful.  No problem.  Happy to help.

About the second day of healthy eating plan, he was busy in the kitchen, and I was probably watching him drinking a diet coke.  He turned to me and said, “This isn’t that hard, but it does require planning.” 

Isn’t that how it is with change?  Most changes aren’t hard, but they do require planning.  And, they require support.  And communication.  A couple other situations have arisen in my life this spring that have brought this into focus in other ways.

Over the years in the workplace, I have noticed that those who effect the best changes are those who seek advice.  They consult experts; they examine various possibilities before launching a change – just like my son did his research prior to his modifications.

I have also noticed that positive change – anywhere – almost always involves garnering support from those around you.  If the change will affect the lives of others, it is wisest to ask them for their ideas and support – just as my son did before he began.  Had his proposals been outrageous or unhealthy, I would have objected and offered other ideas to help him achieve his goals.

Help is also a key component to making changes.  One can declare a change, but it is so much easier to make changes with the help of those who care about you at home, at the office, or at school.  If I were to just decree a change in my office, my colleague might go along with me.  But, if I consult her, get her input (especially since she has been there longer than I), consider her suggestions, my change might keep its form and my colleague would be on board with me; or, maybe, just maybe, my change would end up being modified and better for everyone.

One thing I noticed about son’s new meal choices is that while I did help him, he undertook the bulk of the work.  In the last seven days, he has made 20 of 21 meals.  Furthermore, he has cleaned up the preparation and consumption of these meals.  He has even gone above and beyond cleaning up extra from his brother’s and my meals. 

That’s what has really impressed me: he rolled up his sleeves and got to work.  He didn’t sit in the living room and proclaim what he wanted and expect me to hightail it to the store or prepare special foods.  He did not recline, saying, “Well, this will all work out because this is what I want, so get on board, Mom.”  He communicated, planned, and did the work.  If we want changes, we must be willing not only to work for them but also to plan. Just thinking about changing his eating habits won’t get him the results he wants.  Simply declaring a change, asking others for support without any discussion, and blindly hoping that change will work out does not succeed.

We check the forecast and buy seeds before we plant our gardens.  Schools spend five months or more planning graduation ceremonies.  Summer vacations are usually the subject of familial conversations and extensive research.  Offices don’t just hope for the best when the fiscal year turns over. 

Let’s all take a page from my son’s book – at home and at work.  Spring is the season for new beginnings.  Positive change doesn’t happen on its own; those new beginnings can only sprout from good ideas watered with the wisdom and support of those around us.

Public Speaking and Shoes

I went to a mini-conference today.  It was sponsored by a multi-national company and related to my job field.  The presenter removed his shoes repeatedly and inexplicably during the session he gave.  He also committed several deadly sins of professional public speaking, according to the commandments that I didn’t realize I have been creating over the years.

   This presenter removed articles of clothing during the talk.  Specifically, the aforementioned shoes.  I don’t mind if a man removes his suit jacket or a woman her sweater, assuming there are appropriate articles of clothing underneath.  While this presenter did have socks on, it was not appropriate to remove his footwear in this professional setting.  There may be professional settings where it would be appropriate:  a surfing convention, a podiatry talk, a pedicure training meeting…but, an educational testing talk?  Nope.

Laura’s Rule One:  clothing remains in place during professional talks. 

Violation of Rule One results in a loss of credibility.

     He clearly approached two of the female participants with nightclub-type intentions, intonations, and questions.  To wit, one of those women is a colleague of mine, and we were looking at senior pictures of her daughter prior to the start of the conference.  The presenter took a passing interest as he moved about the room, but then he came back.  He asked my co-worker if the girl in the picture was her sister.  He then gushed about the girl’s beauty.  Granted, both my colleague and her daughter are attractive women.  But, no.

Laura’s Rule Two: do not “hit on” or otherwise make lascivious remarks about or to anyone in a professional setting.

Violation of Rule Two results in loss of credibility and a possible quick search on the state sex offender registry.

    I really didn’t need a ten minute (no hyperbole) talk about the efficiency of this presenter’s sixth grade social studies teacher.  Now, an admission:  had this story played into an important point in the presentation, I would withhold judgment.  It did not.  I am not.  Also, I understand the idea of starting a presentation with a short, relevant personal story in order to create empathy.  But, then, it’s time to move on.  Professional presentations are about the subject matter NOT about the presenter.

Laura’s Rule Three:  do not add in extended personal stories or information just to extend the presentation or to try to ingratiate yourself to the audience. 

Violation of Rule Three results in loss of credibility and extreme annoyance and a constant checking of the wrist watch or cell phone to check the time.

   “Harvard had a twelve percent admission rate last year.”  Well, no, no it didn’t.  It was right about 6.2%.  I corrected him.  He smiled lamely and removed his shoes. 

Laura’s Rule Four:  Know your shit. 

Violation of Rule Four results in loss of credibility and a serious questioning of all other information presented thereafter.

    He really needed to present information in an organized manner and with real facts and figures.  Making stuff up does not impress anyone.  Also, just because you have a PowerPoint does not mean you are organized.  Pseudo-organization is no organization at all.

Laura’s Rule Five: be organized, stick to the plan, know your shit.  (Yes, that last one bears repeating.)

Violation of Rule Five results in loss of credibility and a chat among the participants at the break and the whole car ride home about how all of the information could have been presented in about 30 minutes, and then we could have gotten coffee before returning to school.

I am pretty sure I have more rules than this, but in the interest of brevity and organization, I will end the rules here.  For the moment. 

As a person who speaks publicly on a regular basis to my colleagues, students, their parents, and total strangers, and as a person who has spent decades of time presenting information in a classroom setting, think I have a pretty good handle on this.

Really, I suppose we could boil some of this down to an observation:  you don’t need fine clothes or a fancy hairstyle or the latest technology to present well.  You just need to keep your shoes on and know your shit.

What, Me?

Today everyone is worried.  At school, teachers are worried about the long stretch that is called midterm.  My seniors are worried about college application essays and deadlines and decisions and homework and majors and life and okay, well, the seniors overdo it a bit.  Falcons fans are worried that the Saints are now 4-0.  The country is worried that the government shut down.  Israel is worried that Iran is developing nuclear weapons.  Okay, well, maybe worried isn’t the right word for the Falcons fans, but you get the idea.  What are you worried about? 

I confess:  I rarely worry.  Okay, so I was a little worried when I got up this morning and realized I didn’t have a lesson plan for my 7 am Russian class. I thought about it in the shower, printed off a page before class, and reviewed grammar with students during class.  It was "all good."  No, I don't like that phrase, but it all worked out.  I also don’t like the phrase that people who express paragraphs of worry and end their verbal essays with:  “Oh well, it is what it is.”  Right.  So, why did you just spend your breath and my time to express everything that is pressing on your mind and heart simply to dismiss it?  It’s either important and let’s talk about it or it’s not. 

A number of years ago, I experienced panic attacks about everything and about nothing at the same time.  I would be in the grocery store, almost ready to check out, and boom!  I had to push the cart to the side and leave without a word to anyone.  Something was worrying me. To this day, I don’t know what it was.  Medication was overrated, and meditation did help.  But, now I just can’t seem to muster up the energy to worry. 

Clearly, I might have a future in government because few of those lawmakers seem worried about the immediate effects or the fallout that the governmental shut is having and will have.  The etymology of the verb “to worry” seems appropriate here:  there are several languages this word hails back to, and all of the meanings have to do with strangle or rope.  (About what we might be feeling towards both sides of the aisle in Washington right now.)  Still, I see little point in worrying actually.  Things have a way of working themselves out:  from college admissions to fifth grade spelling quizzes to governmental shut downs – what will worrying contribute? 

So, as you watch too much CNN or FOX or as you stare blankly at your computer screen that beckons you to write that essay or report, remember worry doesn’t help, but getting to work just might.  Now, if only our lawmakers could do the same.

Apache

"It is essentially a flying tank -- 

a helicopter designed to survive heavy attack 

and inflict massive damage.

 It can zero in on specific targets, day or night, even in terrible weather."

I am evidently stupid.  Or so suggests my 12 year-old.  No, the boy doesn’t say it in so many words, but telling me his homework is done when it isn’t does seem to suggest a certain lack of confidence in my ability to check his homework.  He told me his planner was stolen.  He told me he lost his vocabulary book.  He told me he hates English.   Now, these are all things that any rational semi-involved parent would instruct the child to sort out or report or get over. 

The thing is – this is a killer – I work at my kids’ school.  A short walk across the carpool lane will reveal to me a planner in the bottom of a locker that was “clean yesterday,” a vocabulary book under said planner, and an English teacher who – brace yourselves – wants the child to do his homework and then – gasp – bring it to class.  Yes, this child needs to sort things out, but the thing that kills him is that I know what’s happening.  I’m there.

I have worked at my children’s school since the year after we moved south.  Let’s just say that the public education system in our fair state is not up to snuff.  Being in education in the independent school setting has some advantages.  However, helicoptering has never been one of them. Although I have worked at the school my children attend for the past 13 years, I have gone to parent-teacher conferences only when required by the teacher.  I have looked in my older two sons’ lockers a total of maybe three times, and only then when bidden to do so by them.  I went to high school back to school night because I had to: I'm on faculty.  I haven’t checked up on the older two at all.  They have done their work, requested supplies when needed, and gone about their merry way.  My mantra has always been, “I’ve already been in (fill in the child’s current grade), and I don’t want to do it again.”  I’m willing to admit that they probably missed some homework and fell down here and there.  But, overall, they did pretty well left to (mostly) their own devices.

My youngest child is going to be the death of me.  And him.

He inspires helicoptering.  And I hate it.  I love him.  I hate what is happening.  He is near failing nearly every aspect of fifth grade: getting homework done, keeping track of homework, bringing home PE clothes to be laundered – you name it, and he’s struggling.  Or he wants me to think he is.  Before anyone pulls out the oh-but-he’s-in-his-last-year-of-elementary-school pity, let me tell you that fifth grade is middle school for us.

This is the downside of having a parent-teacher: I’m always on the teacher’s side.  Work detail for missed homework?  Dandy.  Lonely lunch for missed work detail?  Sure.  Need him to come in after school for extra help?  No problem.  Before school for organization counseling?  He’ll be there.

I will always side with the teacher.

I will always support my son.

These two things are not mutually exclusive.

So, dearest, youngest child please understand that I didn’t helicopter-parent either of your brothers, and if you insist on driving me to it this year, I’m going to be an Apache helicopter.  With one target.  You.  

Baby Einsteins

This past week my youngest son got a rash.  My middle son ranted about the ineffectiveness of the student government at his school.  My eldest son decided to revamp his college plans – again.  None of these things are what I wanted for any of them.  We all want our kids to be healthy, to believe in that being involved in your community can improve life, and to go to college and get a good job.  None of that was happening this week for us. 

Over in New Orleans, where my sister lives, her sons’ school implemented a no-nuts policy.  It’s not a new, clever math program, nor is it a program to decrease helicopter parenting.  It is a dietary restriction for all.  As you might surmise, it is a policy that prohibits nut spreads and products throughout the school.  According to the American Peanut Board less than one percent of the population suffers from peanut or tree-nut allergies; another source suggests that 1.4% of children have nut allergies.   Compare that to 2.5 percent of children who have milk allergies.  Are we making policies at schools for the 2% now?  It would seem so over in the bayou.  If I know my nephews, they may suddenly develop allergies to homework or break out in hives over pencil lead.  As a life-long teacher, I do need to know about special needs or allergies your child has, but I don’t need the school to make policies based on those needs. 

When I was a teenager, I babysat a kid who was allergic to almost everything.  Throughout his childhood, this boy’s skin was swollen or welty because he had allergies.  He learned not to eat the things that irritated him, and his parents were cautious with his diet and contacts.  However, they did not demand across the board policies at the school to protect their son.  They taught him and those who cared for him (including the teachers) what he could and couldn’t have or do.  Institutional policy wasn’t altered for this one child.  Likewise, my Jewish friends did not picket the school demanding no pork ever be served in the lunch lines.  They simply didn’t eat it.  My middle son is a vegetarian, but he does not like people to make a big deal out of it.  If he’s going to a friend’s house, he doesn’t demand different foods or extra expense because of his needs.  Of course, there is a difference between an allergy and a dietary choice, but if a person demands that society stop just for them and their issues – whatever they are – well, that person might just be feeling a little bit overly special.

As the villain in the Disney kids’ movie The Incredibles asserts:

But everyone wants to be special.  And, every parent definitely wants their kids to be special.  Preferably for some super talent – a music prodigy, a math genius, or a future professional athlete.  The fact of the matter is that most people are regular.  In reviewing Wikipedia, it appears there are less than two hundred music prodigies worldwide, across all genres and across all instruments, including voice since the 1700s.  That’s less than one a year for the whole world – for over three hundred years. On the sports front, about one percent of NCAA Division I, II, or III players will make an NFL roster, much less be the next Drew Brees or Jimmy Graham.  But, if your child doesn’t have super talents, maybe he can be special and get attention due to his allergies?  

I work with high school students and their parents. I have found that it is immeasurably easier to be frank with the kids about their chances at getting into Harvard or Yale than it is with the parents.  All parents want to think that their child is destined for greatness, and we all know that greatness only comes out of the Ivy League.  Well, no.  But that is a prevailing attitude.  We all know that there are excellent leaders, teachers, doctors, accountants that attended State U.  That’s where most of us went to college – if we were lucky enough to go to college.  Did you know that less than seven percent of the world’s population even has a college degree?  You have one?  Feel special. 

My sister asserts that there is nothing wrong with being average. Most people are – that’s why it’s called “average.”   While that may be true, it is also certainly true that everyone wants to feel special in some respect.  On the job.  In the home.  To their spouse.  In their neighborhoods.  The problem is that many people seem to be going about earning the “special” title in the wrong way; they are trying to over-control or negatively approach situations or ideas in order to get that title.  Not everything that happens at a school or in the community requires outrage or a movement or a 5K run.  But, have a look around, and you’ll see these sorts of things happening everywhere in order make a point, or get a new policy, or raise money and awareness.  It’s exhausting; some of us just want to sit on the porch and have a beer. 

I have a neighbor who objects to everything the homeowner’s association does; she wants to be recognized and heard, but rather than get involved, she simply sends vitriolic emails to the association.  Parents want to make sure their children are learning and progressing in school.  Instead of ensuring homework is done and the child is learning responsibility, many of them lodge formal complaints, mount campaigns against certain books, or just bad mouth a school or a teacher until they get some action. Among teachers there is a phrase that is always heard, every year after parent conferences:  “Now I understand.”  If you, as a parent, have time to stand in carpool lines and complain, you have time to volunteer to help – to support the mission of the school. 

If my child fidgets a little, perhaps he is AD/HD and needs medication and extra time for tests and extensions on homework.  That’s not a way to feel special – that’s a way to guarantee your child will grow up expecting to be catered to.  And, no, I’m not disparaging those with real learning differences – like I said, 20 years in education – I know differences exist, and they need to be addressed.  But, there are those parents who simply want extra attention for their children, and thus for themselves, and seek it with unreasonable demands and undocumented differences: rallying against nuts or milk products or berries in school cafeterias or demanding extra attention because a child is simply undisciplined.  Therein lies the problem.

A couple of years ago I was instructing my middle son to do something that he had neglected to attend to.  He responded, “Mom, you’re damaging my self-esteem.”  I looked him right in the eye and said, “It’s called self-esteem for a reason.”  You and your child may not be Mozart or Julie Andrews.  You’re probably not Julio Jones or Peyton Manning.  And while you may be good at math, there’s only one Gabriel Carroll or Zerah Colburn.  But, we can all be forces for good.  We can be special if we just do our stuff:  job, school, yard work, laundry.  If we could all just agree that average is the new special, then, maybe we all can relax, sit on the porch, and have that beer.

How was your summer?

“How was your summer?” has been reverberating in the hallways of high schools and across college campuses for the past few weeks.  The traditional “What I did on Summer Vacation” essays will have been read, graded, and revised within the next two weeks.   So, how was your summer?  How was your summer?  How was your summer? 

My summer wasn’t great, but it wasn’t bad either.  Like hundreds of thousands of people across the nation, my summer began with the end of school.  I finished my 24^th year in high school on June first.  For sixteen of those years, I was a classroom teacher.  So, a few days, a couple of meetings, and one well-intentioned but always ill-conceived end of the year luncheon after graduation, summer began. Not being a classroom teacher now, though, I work through the summer (like the vast majority of Americans).  The hallways are quieter, but the work continues: testing statistics, best practice research, cleaning out last year’s publications to make room for the next year.  We have things to do over the summer. 

Everybody does:

Vacations.

Cook outs.

Baseball games.

Beach trips.

Family reunions.

We all have things to do over the summer whether or not we work full time during these three precious months.  And, now here we all are at the end, ready to go back and report on how we spent our time.  Perhaps we share some common ground.

I revisited the city where I spent five college years.  I went to two weekend conferences there, and I still agree with myself: this is a great city to live in.  My son, who is a junior there, disagrees and argues that the tenor of the town changes when the undergrads are drunk in the streets.  Yep, I remember.  But, I wouldn’t be a part of that scene if I lived there as an adult.  Still a great place: cultural, gastronomical, athletic, literary opportunities abound.  In between those two weekends, I visited my parents in the town and home where I spent my formative years.  I hung out with a high school friend, a college friend, and a friend of my sister’s.  More traffic there.  I still mostly know my way around there despite an absence of thirteen years.  I feel like I could, indeed, go home again and be quite comfortable. 

Then, I spent some time alone.  Not by design, but due to the fact that eldest son was in summer school, middle son was on a beach trip with friends and then at summer language camp, and youngest son was with his dad.  I found out I can, pretty comfortably, not talk to anyone for hours on end.  A good thing?  I think so.  Middle son was worried that I became anti-social during this time.  Not so.  Also during this time, I was privileged to help a friend who was recovering from surgery.  Yes, I was alone, but I didn’t curl up or wither up.  I did the things that about fifteen years ago I would have lamented never having time to do:  read the whole newspaper, watch the movies I wanted to see, go to the bathroom alone, make exactly what I wanted for supper and then eat it while I read my favorite book.

Finally, it was road trip time.  Ten days up to New York state and back, including lots of points in between with middle son.  It is good to change your surroundings occasionally – from rearranging furniture to just seeing something new outside of the car window – this can refresh your approach to life.  And so it did for me.  We also did some planning for the future; he is a high school senior, and the future looms, inviting him to new places and marking changes for me.

We didn’t go to the beach and, blessedly, I only had to watch one baseball game.  For me this summer was about looking back when we were in Iowa; reviewing the past and the places where I come from.  It was also about discovering peace in the present.  Where I thought there might be panic or fear, I found that I enjoy my own company, and I have dear friends to spend time with.  Finally, in the college visit road trip, I have begun to embrace the future fact that two-thirds of my family will be gone next year at this time. 

Maybe you watched a lot of baseball; maybe you spent weeks at beach or did the family reunion thing.  Perhaps you had an illness to contend with or a wedding that launched you into a new life.  As a teacher and parent, September first has always been more of a New Year than the one in January.  As we enter this New Year, my hope for you is that you embrace what you have learned from the past, you have peace in your present, and some really great plans for the future.  How was your summer?

Leave the Kids Out of This

'Tis the season...to hang out with your kids. They are out of or home from school, and many of us get two or more weeks of uninterrupted kid-time. When my boys were younger, I loved the days of not getting up to rush to school. Sure, they still woke up abnormally early to watch cartoons and demand breakfast, but we didn't have to rush out the door. We could do nothing or everything and we had all day to do it. Lovely. While I fully realize that parents need breaks from kids, even during winter holidays, I have been pondering a recent phenomenon: parents, with no preference to either sex, who are habitually trying to get rid of their kids.

I'm not talking murder here. I'm also not talking about date nights, book clubs, anniversary trips, or other naturally and necessarily kid-free outings. I'm talking about those parents that rarely seem to take their children anywhere (or at least frequently strive to avoid it) unless it is a kid-centered outing. The kids stay at home with one or the other parent or even a sitter when any errand must be run, restaurant is to be visited, or car needs to be serviced. Kids stay at home, attended by Mr. Wii, Auntie Hershey, and the Red Baron.

What happened to the days of being "forced" to run errands (and rake yards and clean bathrooms)with parents? I seem to remember in & out of the car even in Iowa winters: my sisters and I, sweaty little bundles in the backseat, then frozen faces in the parking lots of the grocery store and Ben Franklin and Dot Discount Drug. Nowadays, even here in temperate Georgia, children are too often spared the inconvenience of running around town with mom or dad...or rather, parents are spared their kids' whining around town. So, everyone's happy if the tots stay at home.

But, what is the price of this convenience? Children are not learning manners of public behavior or, really any basic adult-life skills, such as maneuvering a grocery store or pumping gas. And, yes, I'm serious. There are 18 year-olds who can't even begin to find a bottle of syrup or box of tissue at Kroger. I had a student once whose dad took her car and pumped gas into it whenever the tank got low. Then girl went off to college not knowing this most basic thing. As a twenty year veteran educator, I have the utmost hope for the future. Kids these days are, by and large, smart and interesting and talented. Still, parents today do their children a terrible disservice when they don't take their kids of all ages out and about on mundane tasks.

I know from conversations with and Facebook posts from younger friends, former students, and older first time parents, that many parents don't want to be troubled by their kids when it comes to errands. Friends post about their sadness at not being able to go to Walmart because their spouse is working, hunting, or at a baby shower. What?! Bundle up the kids - all of them - and take them. Teach them to sit calmly in the shopping cart, asking for only one thing while at the store. (asking, not necessarily getting.) The consequence of asking for more than one thing? Getting nothing. Guaranteed. Take the kids out to eat in a sit-down restaurant. Life is not Chuck E. Cheese's. Teach them to sit politely and amuse themselves with the kids'menu, hand and word games or even -- wait for it -- conversation with those with whom they are dining. Kids like experiential learning, and it's not happening nearly enough.

When I see harried kids and weeping parents at Applebee's or Target, it occurs to me that these parents have not taught their kids how to behave in these mundane settings. The kids can be fine at home, a playground, or school...but, they don't know proper comportment for society. Everything is either relaxation, fun and games, or serious business. Nope, a lot of life is picking up milk and getting tires rotated. And, more often than not such outings do not require a Chik-Fil-A milkshake or a Sonic wacky pack.

So, this winter break, take the kids to Disney on Ice and the laser tag arena with a built in pizza place, but also take them to pick up dog kibble and a prescription refill at Walgreen's. The future cashiers and waiters of America will thank you, but most importantly, your kids will, too.