Muddy Boots and Lessons Learned

The older kids could not get along Sunday morning. I was unusually calm and uninvolved with their disagreements . . . until the doors started getting kicked. (There's a bit of a history here with door kicking leading back to my childhood.) At this point they were dressed and ready for church so I had them bring me their church shoes and sent them walking across the field to Grandma's in their chore boots. One was less than compliant and left in a huffy without his coat and stopped to wash the gel out of his hair with a handful of snow.

Finally. Quiet.

We finished getting ready and left to pick them up at Grandma's and keep up my end of the deal. As we got closer we spotted them in the field. Walking the wrong way, back to our house. What the heck? This was not part of the plan, and the husband was beginning to make his opinion known on the ridiculouness of my plan. Well, we mudded our way along the field road in our car, honking the horn to get their attention. They came running! And bawling! I had their change of shoes but that wouldn't fix the mud that was 1/2 way up their legs.

We might have been late to church, but I tell you what. My 6 year old let me sit close to him with my arm around him. They were reverent, kind, and full of love. So the execution was a little less than ideal, but the results were better than I had planned. They were never in danger, but it was enough to shake up their security. And when that happens, impressionable lessons are learned.