Over the weekend, I went to Louisiana to celebrate my mom’s 89^th birthday with her. I stopped in Lafayette to pick up flowers and some supplies for the party.

On my way down Ambassador Caffery Parkway, I noticed they were re-striping the road, and traffic was backed up at least three miles. I told myself not to take the same route back to the interstate.

After getting what I needed, I could’ve used my phone to find a route through Lafayette so I’d miss that traffic jam. Truth is, I didn’t know how to tell Google Maps to snake through Lafayette. So I reverted to the tried-and-true paper map.

There’s a Louisiana, Texas and Houston paper map in my vehicle at all times. There are routes I can only find when I spread out the paper map on the hood and examine all the side roads.

Sure enough, I found I could take Congress Avenue through Lafayette and pick up I-10 on the east side of town. That route took me past beautiful homes, stately oak trees and a few parks where kids were playing soccer and riding skateboards.

For once, I was glad I didn’t have technology at my finger tips to help me figure out a solution to a problem.

We’ve become so dependent on Google for things we used to use our brains for. I’m guilty of taking the quick and lazy way out and using Google instead of figuring it out for myself.

Occasionally I’ll use Google for recipes, but the best resources are the paper cookbooks on my shelf, especially books I’ve gotten from local church organizations.

No Louisiana kitchen is complete without the original River Roads Recipe cookbook – the best recipe in the world for home-baked brownies is on page 190. One of my earliest memories of my mom’s kitchen is the red-checked Better Homes and Garden cookbook she used for decades.

Besides Google, there’s two major services that take most of the thinking out of our lives – Alexa and Siri. They’re voice controlled, online digital assistants.

Amazon sponsors Alexa, and Siri is for Apple customers. Using your smart phone, Alexa can turn on your coffee maker, play music and answer difficult questions.

You can ask Siri the weather in London, recommendations for the best restaurants and the height of Mount Kilimanjaro. You’ll have your correct electronic answer in seconds.

My answers would be rainy, the restaurant that’s closest to my house and “tall, really tall.” My answers aren’t as precise as Siri’s but they’re accurate.

Alexa can help you check things off your to-do list. True, but using a pen or pencil and running a line through the checklist on a piece of paper gives me immense satisfaction. I don’t think I’d get that with a virtual check mark and an electronic list.

Alexa and Siri can change the channel on your TV, but I still remember when children were the only remote control in the house.

My dad would be relaxing on the couch and tell one of us to go change the channel. That was an aggravating job unless you were the kid who got stuck holding the rabbit ears antennae because the reception was better with that human connection.

Alexa will burp and make monkey sounds. I’ll take listening to kids make those noises any day of the week. Plus the kids give you the added bonus of making adorable faces while performing those tasks.

One thing they both have in common is they never tire of your questions. They’ll never roll their electronic eyes at you nor will they say “I already told you that.” Their patience is infinite.

I was proud of myself for finding my way through Lafayette. I’m also happy when somebody asks me a trivia question, and I know the answer without resorting to an online service.

Finding a quick answer on my phone isn’t nearly as satisfying as finding the answer inside myself.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

My husband and I took a trip up the Massachusetts coast recently. Number one on our sight-seeing list was going on a whale-watching expedition.

Online photos showed giant whales jumping out of the water, waving their fins at sightseers on the boat. Friends told me they loved watching the whales in their natural environment.

So I signed us up. When we arrived, a sign in the office said “choppy” waters.

That’s like saying a karate chop from Jackie Chan is a love tap. That boat rocked every way but straight, and the wind turned a cool breeze into an arctic wind machine.

An hour later, the boat finally slowed down and we saw – off in the far distance – the back of something gray.

As quick as the whale’s back was visible, it was gone. Twenty minutes later, we saw another gray back. Again, off in the distance. Then it was time for the return trip to the shore. I spent that hour inside the warm galley, glad I’d taken Dramamine.

I chalked this up to another experience I thought was going to be a once-in-a-lifetime, fabulous event only to have it turn out to be somewhat disappointing.

This has happened to me before. Plymouth Rock comes to mind. I pictured a giant boulder, something the size of a tow truck.

Nope.

In reality, Plymouth Rock is about the size of my pillow. I felt fleeced.

On the flip side, there are things you think are going to be humdrum and turn out to be a fabulous experience.

Years ago, my brother, Jeff, and I took a chance on a Saturday afternoon movie we knew nothing about – “Raiders of the Lost Ark.”

We initially thought we’d while away a couple of hours in an air-conditioned theater. Instead, we had the best movie watching experience of our lives.

You might think watching “Paw Patrol” with little ones is boring. But when a child snuggles up next to you, that boring half hour turns into a memorable experience consisting of nothing more than blissful calm. Oh, and said child saying they want every toy advertised on every single commercial.

Washing dishes after a family meal is usually a task we dread. But that humdrum chore allows you to visit with your family or friends, and those casual conversations become memorable moments.

Spending idle time with your grandparents or parents might not seem like a big deal. But later in life, those afternoons will be ones you’ll wish you could revisit.

They’ll casually tell you their views about life, love, commitment, fun and the old days in those leisurely moments. It might be the only time you’ll have their undivided attention in an unrushed environment.

If you spend time cooking with your parents or grandparents, you’re indeed fortunate. Not only will you learn how to master family recipes, you’ll hear all kinds of family stories over a pot of simmering gumbo or while basting a brisket on the family grill.

Humdrum household chores can be a golden opportunity to show your children how to take care of themselves. While folding towels or changing the sheets on the bed, use the time to tell your children about your chores when growing up.

The point is to pass on family memories while doing something seemingly unimportant. Try not to be a martyr during the telling although when we were kids, we did walk uphill to school.

Both ways.

I didn’t see a giant whale jumping out of the ocean on that boat trip. But later in the week, I saw a sailboat gliding along just off the shore, its sails full of possibility, the ocean calm with blue skies overhead.

I saw possibility and adventure in that simple moment. I’ll take that over a rock every single time.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

Today is my mom’s birthday. Telling her age wouldn’t bother her, but she reared me to have manners, so I won’t tell her age, only that she’s a smidge over 80.

Delores Eade was born in Olean, N.Y., the second child to Henry and Albedia Eade. They were hard-working immigrants from Lebanon, and they welcomed their new dark-haired daughter with open arms.

She was quite a willful child growing up, or so the stories go. Her sister still has a scar on her hand from when my mom threw a fork at her and it stuck in her hand.

Then there’s the time she let go of the baby stroller carrying her little brother at the top of the hill and raced the buggy to the bottom. Luckily, she won.

Delores was a smart girl, but her parents were stubbornly old fashioned. Good Lebanese girls got married, had babies and lived near their parents. They did not go to college, but that wasn’t what my mom wanted.

She wanted to go to business school. So she told her father that her cousin was going and she supposed they weren’t as wealthy or as good as her cousin.

She knew her father could never accept that his children weren’t as good as his brother’s children, so my mom got to go off to business school.

A young coed, she met a handsome sailor in Virginia Beach one fun weekend. Old black-and-white pictures in an album show a vivacious woman on the beach with her friends, not a care in the world.

The young sailor was smitten with her, and she discovered, like her, he was Catholic and wanted a big family. They fell in love and thought they could figure out that she was a protected daughter from the North and he was a carefree, handsome son of a printer from the South.

They married and moved to the South, but when my dad’s father passed away, they moved back to the North, right next door to my grandparents. That lasted as long as it could, and then my dad moved his six children and his wife down to Louisiana.

It wasn’t easy. Her mother sent her hurtful letters about how she’d abandoned them, and week after week, my mom read those vile letters but never told us.

Instead, she went to work every day and then came home to prepare a hot dinner for her now seven children every single night without complaining.

I don’t remember being without anything I really needed, and I don’t remember my mother being gone – she was always there for all of us.

She stayed with an alcoholic husband who divorced her. But when he was terminally ill, she allowed him to move back in with her because she knew his grandchildren adored him and they needed each other.

She taught me it’s possible to forgive, even the most hurtful actions, and it’s possible to move forward and blossom, even when one thinks the roots are dead. She taught all of us to laugh at ourselves first and that there’s sunshine in even the darkest days.

She tells the truth, even when I don’t want to hear it, and having a hot cooked meal is the answer to almost all of life’s problems. We were never allowed to miss Sunday dinner with each other, and she always had a tablecloth on the table for those weekly meals after Mass.

She is adored by all seven of her children, her grandchildren, her great-grandchildren, nieces, nephews, siblings, nieces and nephews. Yet she takes that in stride, always claiming she’s the lucky one to be surrounded by such an incredible family.

So happy birthday, Delores Hebert Eade, mom, Siti, Sit-Siti and my best friend. I love you more than I can ever say. Thank you for not only being the best role model but for being someone who has shown me how to live and, more importantly, how to love.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

Names are tricky. Luckily, mine is pretty easy, but mistakes still happen. My first name can be spelled “Denice” or “Denisse.”

My last name will sometimes get two D’s instead of one, but that’s usually when the “The Addams Family” movie is being shown.

Growing up in the North, my last name, Hebert, was constantly butchered. My Dad was a Southerner with a Cajun last name who happened to move to New York State.

To those who know the ingredients in andouille sausage and eat it anyway, there’s no problem pronouncing Hebert. It’s “A-Bear,” like in the sentence “I saw a bear in the woods today.”

But for people who’ve never stepped foot in Louisiana, Hebert is usually pronounced “Hee-Bert” or “Heb-Bert.” I remember explaining how to pronounce my name to my teachers because they’d never met a real Cajun before.

These were educators who could pronounce every Polish, Italian and Lebanese name in the phone book. They had no problem with Kowalski or Kneiser.

But throw an Hebert or a Boudreaux in the mix, and every one acted as if we’d told them our names came from the ancient Aztecs.

Once we moved back to Louisiana, nobody ever asked me how to pronounce my last name. After all, this is a state where the words “Atchafalaya” and “Thibodaux” roll off the tongue as easily as “barbecue” and “ribs” roll off a Texans’ tongue.

By the way, that’s “Ah-chaff-ah-lay-ah” and “Tib-ah-dough.” The first is a huge swamp along I-10 where you will inevitably run into a traffic jam and sit unmoving on a causeway for 45 minutes with no way to get off.

The second is a Cajun last name that’s as common as Smith or Jones in states where they incorrectly pronounce crawfish as crayfish.

When my husband and I moved to Texas, we brought our Louisiana pronunciations with us. In Louisiana, a big body of water is a bayou, pronounced “bye-you.” Here, it’s “buy-oh.” When we saw Bissonnet Street, we pronounced it French style, “Bis-son-aye,” while Texans say “Bis-son-et.”

Roads were a tough one for us back then.

Interstate 10 is also called the Katy Freeway. I-45 is known as the Gulf Freeway and Loop 610 is known as “The Loop” even though two more freeways circle Houston.

I finally realized these roads are named for where they either originate or end up – Katy, the Gulf of Mexico and the unending loop around the greater Houston area that’s always under construction.

The grand winner in the confusing street names is U.S. 59, otherwise known as the Eastex Freeway, I-69, the Southwest Freeway and the Lloyd Bentsen Highway.

I still laugh about one of the first phone calls I made in Texas. I was trying to find a store near Sharpstown. I told the man I lived in Richmond.

“Well, you get on the Eastex Freeway,” he began.

“I’m sorry. Which freeway is that?” I said.

“The one that goes from east to west,” he said.

“Can you give me a number, like 610, 10 or something like that?” I asked.

There was silence.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “We just moved here from Louisiana and I’m not familiar with the street names.”

“From Loo-zianna, eh,” he said, pausing. “Then let me talk slower.”

If you really want to fit in with the Cajuns, do not ever say you’re happy to be in “New Or-Leans.” Simply say your favorite breakfast in “New Aw-lins” is “café-oh-lay with a side order of ben-yays.” By the way, that’s strong chicory coffee mixed with steamed milk and a side order of fried doughnuts covered with confectioners’ sugar – Café Au Lait and beignets.

They’ll think you’re a native.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

 

 

 

 

On a rainy afternoon, a Sean Connery film was playing on cable TV. I’m a big fan of the late Scottish actor who was the face and voice of “Bond, James Bond.”

I also liked Connery later in his career because he wasn’t afraid to toss his toupee and show the world’s sexiest man was actually bald.

My dad started losing his hair when he was in his 20’s, and he constantly agonized about his receding hairline.

Finally, he decided to order a toupee. I remember the day the hair piece arrived. My mom taped a note to the back door stating “It’s Here!” and my dad ran inside to open the box.

We weren’t sure what to think, but my dad was over the moon that he could finally cover his bald head.

Few were fooled, but wearing the “rug” made him feel good, so we went along with his attempt to cover the baldness.

Over the years, my dad put on weight. His head got a little bigger, but he was too frugal – well cheap – to buy a new toupee. He would simply tug down on the back part of it whenever a sliver of his scalp showed through.

My brother says one of the funniest things he’s ever seen was when my dad was at an amusement park. They were on a ride where the round wall spins and the floor drops out from underneath the riders. The centrifugal force keeps the riders plastered against the wall.

As the ride spun, dad’s toupee slowly floated up in the front, only staying on because Dad’s head was against the wall. My brother spent the whole ride watching my dad attempting to lift his arm up so he could clamp his hand down on the toupee to keep it from potentially flying off.

Dad eventually grew tired of how hot his head felt in the summer and he missed swimming. One day, he ditched the rug for good, claiming he had better things to do with his energy than grow hair on his head.

My brothers, sons and most of my nephews are also either bald or balding. For the most part, they’ve accepted their fate gracefully.

Our youngest brother calls himself “The Bald Avenger” on his popular website, and one of my sons thinks being bald is a good deal. He doesn’t waste time combing his hair or spend money at a barbershop.

While watching an episode of “Ted Lasso,” one of the characters bemoans the fact that he can no longer play professional football, soccer to we Americans. His girlfriend, knowing he’s upset, asks her boyfriend’s young niece to describe her uncle.

She never once mentions he’s a football player. I decided to try the experiment on my family in honor of my dad’s upcoming birthday.

I asked them to describe Pop using only three words. I gave no more direction than that, and here are the words I received in response:  optimistic, direct, insightful, opinionated, entrepreneurial, goofy, spirited, magical, hopeful, spontaneous, energetic, dancer, charismatic, suave and force of nature.

Dad was all of those things and more. But there was one adjective no one mentioned.

No one said bald.

Not one person.

Something that bothered my father all of his adult life wasn’t even mentioned by those of us who knew and loved him well.

Those who love us don’t really notice the physical traits that bother us the most. They see us for who we are, both on the outside and on the inside.

They know us for our talents, whether it’s sewing, playing the guitar, dancing or drawing.

They won’t remember us as fat, skinny, tall, short, bald or hairy. They’ll remember us for giving of ourselves in times of need. They’ll remember we listened to them cry or tell us about their day.

They’ll remember our kindness when we tucked them into bed at night or listened patiently as they told us a story.

They’ll remember if we had soft skin, strong arms or a comfortable lap. They’ll remember our singing voice, our laugh and the stories we told.

They’ll remember backyard barbecues, shooting hoops and baking cookies together.

Above all, they will remember we loved them.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

While tracking Hurricane Ida, I searched social media for additional information. I saw posts asking why anyone would stay in Louisiana after all the hurricanes and flooding they’ve experienced.

My blood boiled.

Why in the world would anyone live in California where mud slides take out houses in seconds and wildfires roar through the state every year?

Why would anyone live on in Minnesota where ice storms are a certainty and mosquitoes, the size of a small bird, are a constant pest?

And why would anyone live in Texas where the summers are brutal, the roadways are packed and a tropical depression can drop 50 inches of rain on a coastal city on any summer day?

The reasons are basic – family, friends and familiarity.

People in every state deal with natural disasters. Hawaii experiences powerful tsunamis and uneasy volcanoes, and Alaska has weeks where the sun never sets. But the snowy landscapes in the north and the white-sand beaches on the islands are unmatched in their beauty and majesty.

Alabama and Mississippi get bad press for their educational systems, but their beaches and rural country sides are lush and unspoiled.

Arkansas is often singled out as survivalist country, but this state has gorgeous hills and thousands of bubbling creeks shaded by oak and hickory trees.

Although the New England states deal with frigid “nor’easters,” the warm colors of the leaves in the fall can’t be beat, especially when driving on quiet country roads through covered bridges.

The Midwest takes a beating in the press for being boring “fly-over” country. The miles of rolling green corn fields from Iowa to Kansas are unequaled, and these states have earned their title of “heartland.”

The Wild West is hot and dusty in states like Montana, Utah, Colorado and the Dakotas, but just try and find a more gorgeous sight than the sun setting in the Rockies or snow-kissed firs in the winter.

New Mexico is criticized for their tough summers, but their red and orange canyons are a painters’ heaven.

Some of us look at the dry desert lands of Arizona and Nevada as home while others prefer the lush greenness and rock-filled rivers of Georgia and the Carolinas.

My birth state, New York, has brutal winters and high taxes, yet their gentle mountains and busy metropolitan cities offer something for everyone.

No matter the climate or the potential for a natural disaster, every state is home to someone.

We’ll roll the dice and take our chances with hurricanes, blizzards, and tornadoes because 99 percent of the time, life is ordinary.

In that ordinary, we find the extraordinary kindness of friends and family and the grit and determination to keep going no matter what happens.

Louisiana and Mississippi have a huge task in front of them, and many are still recovering from past storms. But just as they’ve done many times before, these Southerners will roll up their sleeves and not only clean up their homes but those of their neighbors.

The barbecue pits will be smoking, neighbors with power will house those who lost theirs and donations will pour in from those who escaped Mother Nature’s wrath.

Cousins will arrive in pick-up trucks with shovels, and strangers will reach out in their communities, offering whatever help they can.

Because families take care of family.

It’s going to take a lot more than a hurricane, mud slide or tornado to stomp out the spirit of those who come through adversity with their can-do attitude intact.

Things can be replaced and life will go on. That’s what we do in the places we call home.

 

 This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

 

Most fashion trends have a revolving-door life – they’re all the rage when they arrive, fade away and then eventually come back into vogue.

Some of these fashions, like neon blue eye shadow, should stay in the history books.

Others, like chiffon gowns, should come back every five years. If, however, you have a decorating style in your home that’s considered old-fashioned or out of touch, you’re shamed.

I’m here to say enough is enough to the fashion police who think they know everything and shame those of us who prefer styles and fashions they deem old fashioned.

I like earth tones in my house. The current kitchen trend is for white countertops, gray cabinets and gray walls. There’s no clutter on the countertops and the floors are – go ahead and say gray because that’s the right answer – gray.

This is great for some homes, but not for me. I like the rusts, golds and browns in our granite, and there’s no way I’d ever paint our wood cabinets. Each door has its own character, the irregular grains and random knots adding interest and personality.

I’ll also keep small appliances and knick-knacks on my countertops. The toaster and coffee maker are out in the open, right where I need them every single day, and our refrigerator is covered with art work, courtesy of our grandchildren.

The walls in the room where we watch television are covered with family photos. According to the decorating magazines, I should be ashamed of myself.

The walls should be painted – go ahead and say gray because, once again, that’s the right answer – gray and only expensively framed posters with French words on them should go on the wall.

Sorry but everything that hangs on the walls of our house has a special meaning. There’s a print we bought on our honeymoon over 35 years ago, photos we’ve taken over the years and posters my husband won in the many marathons he ran.

A picture our son drew in middle school has a prominent place in the hall as does the magazine article written about our eldest boy.

No way I’d take those memory pieces down and replace them with some expensive, cold poster.

I don’t want holes or rips in my pants and I especially don’t want to pay more for those holes.

The last time I looked at jeans, the ones with rips and tears were $25 higher than the plain Wranglers. Cue the old fogey voice here – when I was in high school, if you wore pants with rips or tears, your classmates thought you were too poor to afford decent clothes.

The only place I found jeans that’ll last more than three washings was at the feed and seed store, and they were half the price of the ripped ones.

I also want my shirts to reach below my hips. Granted, the women and girls buying these midriff shirts don’t have the stretch marks and belly rolls I have, but trying to find a shirt for my granddaughter that covered her abdomen was like trying to find tennis shoes that cost less than a tire for my car.

Just so I don’t sound like a cranky old lady, there are some wonderful current trends. Plaid’s back in vogue, as are hats and T-shirts in all styles. I loved high-waisted jeans in the 70s and I love them now.

Sweatpants, a staple of my winter wardrobe, are being sold in a variety of colors, finally earning the fashion industry’s respect.

Buck the trends, decorate and wear what you like and go ahead and keep your toaster out on the counter.

Come join me in my earth-toned kitchen and enjoy a cup of percolated coffee while we wish for the day bell bottoms come back in style.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

For most of Fort Bend County, school starts next week. If we thought last year was the most bewildering year in recent history, prepare for another three-ring circus.

No matter if teachers have to find a way to socially distance 36 kids in a classroom the size of your smallest bedroom or if it’s back to normal, here are some tips for you to remember as the 2021-22 school year begins.

One. The teacher is a human being. He or she will make mistakes, achieve incredible goals and cry herself to sleep. Give your kid’s teacher a break and if you’re criticizing without helping, you’re part of the problem.

Two. Your child is a human being. He or she will make mistakes this year. They’ll hit another kid, spill their milk and flunk a test. Find out the root of the problem before jumping to conclusions.

Three. Administrators are human beings. I don’t know any assistant principal or principal who wished they could spend all day assigning detention, checking to make sure teachers were on hall duty or breaking up fights.

They got into administration to help teachers and students achieve success. If you’re complaining that your darling couldn’t possibly be breaking the rules or they’re being too harsh for taking away your daughter’s cell phone when she had it out during class, you are making an administrator’s job harder.

Four. Make sure your child is prepared. That means getting kids to bed on time. The American Academy of Sleep Medicine recommends 9-12 hours of sleep a night for elementary students and 8-10 hours of sleep a night for teens.

If your third grader has to get up at 6 a.m. to get dressed and catch the bus, they need to be in bed by 8 p.m. at the latest. You know how you are when you’re tired – your child’s no different.

Five. Buy supplies now. You might not think your child will go through two boxes of 24-count crayons in one year.

That is incorrect thinking.

Your child will not only wear down the red and black crayons by Thanksgiving, they will break all the crayons in the box by Christmas. Buy back-up supplies now while they’re cheap. That 50-cent box of crayons is $1.50 in January.

Six. The teacher is right. No matter what your child tells you, back the teacher up first. My sons were notorious for blaming everything on the teacher. They learned that trick from blaming their youngest brother instead of accepting personal responsibility.

Seven. Make learning important. Parents are busy working from home or juggling two jobs to make ends meet. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t put value on school work. Make it a priority to ask what they learned that day, but don’t fall for the “nothing” answer.

Ask specifics.

“What science experiment did you do today?” “What book did the teacher read to the class today?” “What did you play at recess?” Older teens would rather talk about what’s happening on the social level. Ask but don’t pry.

Eight. Be there. In the elementary schools, parents can barely walk down crowded halls on Open House night. On the secondary level, teachers get solitary work finished because few parents attend.

Your child needs to know you care about their academic success every single year, not just when they’re in grade school. Show up, meet the teachers and establish a line of communication so you know what’s happening.

Nine. Learning is 24/7. Put your phone down and encourage your children to seek out information and knowledge.

A car ride is an opportunity to talk about cars, traffic, weather, flowers, concrete, pollution – the list is endless. You can make your children life-long learners by teaching them to be curious about the world around them.

Ten.  Enjoy the year. No matter what happens, soak up these years with your child because they will never again be a second grader, a middle-schooler or a high-school senior. Your email, texts and Tik-Tok videos can wait. Your child will not.

Enjoy the year and buckle up.

It’s going to be a heck of a ride.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

 

Growing up, my dad had a direct, no-nonsense way of dispensing advice and marching orders to his seven children.

“Do what I tell you to do when I tell you to do it” and “Do what I say, not what I do.” Simple, easy to understand and to the point. He dealt with us in that straight-forward manner until he passed away, even though his children were all adults with their own families.

At some point, children become adults, and it’s not always easy for parents to modify the way we impart advice.

When my boys were young, my friend, Helen, gave me the best advice – use one-syllable words and their entire name in circumstances requiring immediate obedience.

“Stop it” and “right now” were two of my favorites. Those two phrases met all of Helen’s criteria.

When they were teenagers, my mothering orders became lengthier. I read a lot of parenting books, and I tried their expert advice.

“Explain why you’re making that decision to your teen so they understand,” was one technique I thought would work.

I remember standing in my teenage son’s disaster of a room and explaining why it was in his best interests to put his dirty clothes in the hamper. I failed with that technique for months until I remembered Helen’s advice.

“Clean it up or you’re grounded” finally worked.

Now that all of my sons are adults, I’m realizing it’s hard to transition from the front-line mommy role to the bleacher-seat mom role.

My husband mastered the evolution with a lot more success than I did and only offers advice if asked.

On the other hand, I spout “words of wisdom” like I’m a soda machine.

I’m still trying to tell them what to do even though they are quite capable of running their own lives.

That realization is a little depressing because I want my sons to still ask me for help or advice. I want to help them through the tough times and ask me how to remove stains from a dress shirt.

My mom, Delores, has adult parenting down pat. I asked her how she manages to keep a good relationship with all seven of her adult children and her daughters- and sons-in-law.

She said the answer is easy – she never tells us what to do and she doesn’t get too involved in our personal lives.

The best she can do, she said, is to listen without judgment. She is there to love and support us, our spouses and especially our children and grandchildren.

Most importantly, Mom said we need to know she believes in our decisions and will stand by us no matter what path we decide to take.

“It’s that simple,” she said.

Maybe simple for her, but that advice is hard to put into practice. I tried her way when talking to my niece. Because of the coronavirus outbreak in Louisiana, she was looking at postponing her wedding.

She asked me what to do, and my first impulse was to spout off my opinion. I almost overlooked a golden opportunity to change the way I deal with my now adult nieces and nephews.

I thought long and hard about my mom’s philosophy. Then I told my wonderful niece I knew she’d do the right thing because she was smart and I believed in her.

Not giving advice was hard, but listening to her, really listening, and then talking to my niece like the intelligent, caring adult she is was a whole lot easier.

I hung up without my giving my two cents’ worth, and hoped I’d said the right things to her.

Now the hard part comes. When dealing with my now-adult children, I need to remember: “WWDD” – “What Would Delores Do?”

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

 

It’s back-to-school time. Some parents like shopping for school supplies with their children so their child will feel like they have ownership in their supplies.

Those now-frazzled parents will discover that’s the first and last time they let their children accompany them.

No matter if you shop in person or online, there’s always one item on the back-to-school supply list that’s impossible to find.

Manila paper is the needle-in-the-haystack school supply oddity this year.

Students use manila paper for art projects, so you’d think the stores would have boxes of manila paper. They have construction paper, neon paper, plain paper and cardstock. But manila paper? Forget it.

That’s the tip of the frustration iceberg called back-to-school supply shopping. It doesn’t matter whether you’re ordering online or standing in a line, the list is often confusing.

Here’s a breakdown of what you might find on the list and the questions you’re liable to face.

Ear buds. Are ear buds supposed to be the ones that plug into a keyboard or wireless buds? Get ready to buy them for anywhere from 99 cents to $59.99. Just know that sooner or later, your child will shove the ear buds up their nose.

Pencils. There’s pencils that smell like blueberries and pencils made in a swirl shape. Your child will curse you if you buy the swirly ones. We know who these children are because they’re the ones who can’t fit the swirly pencil into their plastic sharpener because it was made for the lowly #2 pencil.

Mechanical pencils have their pluses and minuses. On the plus side, if the lead breaks, the child can click and keep going.

On the minus side, most kids will click the whole stick of lead away or see how far they can click the lead out of the pencil before it breaks. Why? Because it’s fun and will drive the teacher and the parent crazy.

Pens should be an easy purchase. But should a parent buy gel pens? Ball-point pens? Pens in blue, black, green, purple or red ink? And what about the point – medium, fine or extra fine?

When you see the word “ruler,” you might think you’ve got it made.

Nope.

There’s wooden rulers, plastic rulers, plastic rulers you can see through and triangular rulers. And all of them come in every color of the rainbow. No matter what color you get, your child will want one like their best friend’s and it will not be the color you picked up.

Plain folders with brads. Easy enough to find, you might think, but there’s cardboard folders and plastic folders. There’s folders with bunnies on the front or racing cars.

And if mom accidentally buys all blue folders and the child next to yours has orange ones – you know your child’s favorite color is orange – you are suddenly the worst shopper in the world.

Crayons. Should you buy the washable crayons, the “colors of the world” crayons, Twistables, neon or pearl? If you stick with the basic colors, should you get the 8-count, 12-count or 24-count? Go ahead and be the most hated parent in the class – get the 64-count yellow Crayola box with the built-in sharpener.

Markers fall in the same category as crayons – way too many choices and sizes. Just make sure you get the washable markers, especially if you invested in white uniform shirts.

Three-ring binders. I could buy a half gallon of Blue Bell ice cream for the same price, and I’d get a lot more enjoyment out of a carton of pralines and cream than I would a plastic binder my kid will bend, break and deface the first week of school.

Happy back-to-school shopping. And remember… after the first day of school, it’s only 172 instructional days until summer 2022.

Hang in there.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.