We skipped T-ball when my 4-year-old daughter was little and went right to soccer. So excited to join the other parents toting collapsible chairs and water bottles, and to watch our firstborn running in cleats and driving in goals, I was green behind the ears and naive to what sports for kids really meant. I was christened quickly one Saturday walking to the fields. My jaw dropped when I heard a mom shrieking at the top of her lungs, “Run, Emily, runnnnn!!!” I watched Emily trying to beat out a girl quickly coming on and watched her mom spin around in anguish when Emily got beat. The mom pounded her fists down on her thighs. Ouch. I walked along, regarding my sweet little girl ... it was her first team experience with a sport and she just wanted to have fun. I certainly didn’t want it to matter so much that she beat out other girls in the game enough to yell like Emily’s mom ... but then what if Emily was a child totally bent on winning? What if that was the way she was wired? My child did not care about winning (even though her Dad and I did!), so we knew we were going to sit and watch her enjoy herself. Sit, and hope the coach would put her in. Sit and sit and sit and carry and drive and sit some more. But she had fun. Later, as our girl began elementary school and the competitive kids began sorting themselves out from the non-competitive kids during recess, winning began to matter more to her naturally, but it didn’t change how she applied herself to soccer. After a couple more seasons of lackluster showing for her team, her commitment waned. She played basketball for school and again, just loved the social aspect of it all. She played softball in the summer and it was the same. So it wasn’t until she discovered rugby that the animal inside of her was born. Suddenly she was jazzed about a game — and how she played the game — and suddenly she was in charge. You did not have to tell her to get ready for practice, she announced that she was, and by the way, “Hurry up, Mom.” I watched as a competitor was born, watched as she threw that weird rugby ball around in the backyard, at the beach, at the park, during practices, during games. Funny sport, that rugby. Here is my demure and gentle daughter playing a game that is all muscle and brawn. Who would have thunk it? What I learned is that it was never about what we wanted for our daughter, it was about her. We parents can mess up the trajectory of our children’s lives if we get in the way too much. Thankfully, by not pushing her, she found what she wanted on her own. But I’m kind of hoping that she doesn’t take this thing too far. I’ve heard that real rugby players eat nails. And I’m not talking fingers!

The photographs you take of your child’s next birthday will tell the story ... or not. What kind of story will it be? One in which you are racing around grousing that you don’t have time to throw a birthday party?

Here I sit alone at my kitchen table this Saturday night, wow what a bore I am! My 3 noisy boys are upstairs with Stewart — Predator's Hockey is on — so it's nice and quiet down here while the boys play knee hockey up there. Today I should have cleaned house but didn't. We had soccer earlier then I drove the boys to Madison for Titanic, the Musical rehearsals. Back home I just hung out and enjoyed watching Secretariat with the family rather than run around cleaning. We are all so happy to simply hang out with nothing else to do for a change — it's like a holiday and we are blessed. Earlier, Stewart came home with a gigantic greek salad and several boxes of deep-dish pizza a caterer friend gave him. Score! Amazed by the beautiful clouds over Brentwood the past two days, just an awesome display of might and glory. Looking forward to Sunday with my family, going to church ... Life with kids is amazing, indeed.

His hair is growing out of control but it's the "flow" he wants. He is 9-years-old. He is full of vim and vigor and he is adorable. It's funny how much a kid becomes himself.

When my daughter was little, I gave her baby dolls because I loved playing with dolls when I was a little. I'd play for hours with my "babies," then for hours with my Barbies when I got a little older, creating huge mansions for them throughout my entire room. If American Girl dolls had have been around when I was a little, I would have been thrilled to indulge in all of that primping and hugging, dressing and decorating.

Alas, my girl didn't play with dolls! I gave her one of those newborn ones ... but it might as well have been mine. I gave her that uber popular Amazing Ally one year (searched everywhere, desperate for it one Christmas), but she was quickly abandoned. I gave her American Girls dolls, but they would sit there in my daughter's room, often tossed aside, faces down, dresses off. At some point, unable to bear it, I'd set them right again, dressing and setting them up just so in their American Girl scenes, hoping it would catch on for my girl, but it never did. Today that delightful collection of dolls, furniture, clothing and accessories are stored in our attic ... waiting ... for the next girl who comes one day ... who loves dolls ... or doesn't.

Was something wrong with my daughter? No.

Was I making the mistake of thinking that because I loved dolls she would too? Yes.

Is there a correlation between a mom who loved to play with dolls and the daughter she raises up? Maybe.

Is there a correlation between NOT playing with dolls and growing up into a sweet, nurturing and loving girl? No.

Playing with or not playing with dolls has nothing to do with it. My did-not-play-with-dolls daughter is a rubgy player. She's also the sweetest, kindest and most loving girl I know.

Raising her, all we did was to support the things she was interested in and provide her unconditional love. I helped her navigate the prickly patch of adolescence that included questionable boyfriends, mean girls and an attempt to abandon her integrity, but we faced off enough to get her flying straight again. She would hole up in her room just like I did when things got difficult with my parents, and her room became her haven. Remembering how much I had loved my room, we told her she could do anything she wanted with her space, decorating wise, to express herself.

Now comes a new book called Girl Land by Caitlin Flanagan (Reagan Arthur; $25.99) which delves into the miraculous way in which girls become women; the intense period of adolescence when girls begin experimenting with their independence, who they are exactly and their burgeoning sexuality. The need girls have to figure out who they are, on their own, in their own private way.

As a teen, I wrote my way to who I am. I'd hole up to scribble down the things I was thinking, make sense of the hard stuff I was going through with my parents, siblings, boyfriends and girlfriends, and always, always what I was feeling about everything. My bedroom was my sanctuary and it is absolutely there, in that private personal place, where I learned who I was. I too was allowed to make my room my own and I did so, with posters on the wall, the curtains I wanted, a special vanity I received one Christmas. I'd play the music I wanted, sing into a pretend mic, watch myself dance. It was here where I became an individual.

In Girl Land, Flanagan says parents would do well to preserve their daughter's bedrooms WITHOUT the Internet, so girls can do the necessary growing up and self realizing without all of that outside noise and imagery the Internet brings. Girls today may not like that idea, but try letting them have their own space to decorate, try putting a diary in there, music ... just not their Smart phone or Internet access.

The walls of my daughter's room are an art piece in and of themselves. There is hardly an inch of wall space that shows between all of the things she expressed herself with as she created it. It is one gigantic 3 dimensional collage of what she loves ... posters and photos, yes, but also letters, candy wrappers, framed art, flags, momentos, funny emails, giant letters spelling words made out of tin foil ... it gives her tremendous pride and joy ... and I think that's where she came from.

Give girls a place of their own to grow in ... even if it's just a tiny closet ... especially as adolescence approaches. Parents can do them a marvelous favor by insisting that space be unplugged. It should be meant for the necessary, individual work that becoming a unique, caring and wonderful young woman entails.

Maybe I've landed on that million dollar idea. I can see the cameras already!  Arriving at my home to see just how many pounds I've lost thanks to my new and highly creative diet I happened upon quite by accident.

I'm a busy, busy mom. I'm a writer and editor, hockey mom, soccer mom, rugby mom, head chef, grocery shopper and YES sole housekeeper extraordinaire. Well yes, my kids have to share in the work, but I'm the only one in our household who uses industrial strength when it comes to cleaning our home. That's the reality TV show part: The Extreme Housework Clean-Off!

In this corner: Susan Day, mom of four from Tennessee, packing her favorite hot pink pair of rubber gloves! And in this corner: Jane Doe from down the street, ready with her scrub brush and Soft Scrub!  It's time, folks! Get ready for EXTREME HOUSEWORK CLEAN-OFF!

When I say it happened by accident, I mean it.

Tired of being late for work (again), and having just completed the morning scuttle to get my four off to school (home-packed lunches for all since those school lunches are so ... well ... school lunch-y, not to mention expensive), my kitchen is a disaster. I've been a fastidious one since I was a little girl. Heck, I once drew a line down the middle of a bedroom I shared with my little sister because I liked my side to be nice and she couldn't care less. I also subscribe to the Martin Scorcese school of creativity: If my environment's a mess, I absolutely cannot be creative! That's not to say that I can't make a gigantic mess; that's the fun part (you should have seen my kitchen after our Christmas cookie bake-off this past holiday), but I ALWAYS strive to leave my home in order when I head off for work, and often I'll get the crock pot going too since the afternoons and evenings are so busy for my family.

What did I do? I started running. That's right, rubber gloves on, sick of not having time for a decent work out, I started jogging in place while I did the dishes. And then I didn't stop running. If I wasn't running from sink to table, I was running in place. I ran to put away misplaced items, I ran to clean the guest bathroom (scrubbing and running is the ultimate in multi-tasking), I ran up the stairs to turn off the lights the kids left on and do a quick once over, I ran to throw out the trash, ran while throwing a load in the dryer, making my bed, getting dinner started in the crockpot, yes, I actually cut carrots while jogging in place.

I kid you not. After awhile, I was working up a sweat, so off came my top layer! Then it hit me: this could be my answer! Clean my house and get fit, too for absolutely no cost whatsoever. Not whistle while you work but RUN WHILE YOU WORK.

Now I sit at my desk at the magazine, feeling better than I have all week. Call me crazy, but hey, you've gotta do what works for you. That's the only kind of working out that will yield results!

But don't you think Hollywood should come to call? Wanna have a HOUSEWORK-OFF? Race to see who can clean a kitchen faster?

Tune in. We might be getting somewhere!

Steve Jobs wasn't the nicest guy in the room, they say. In fact, he could be overtly harsh, demonstrating a nasty streak toward coworkers who offered inferior work. The fact that his expectations were so high regarding the products he conceived and designed ... give me pause ... and I think it's kind of a mean, cruel joke ... that the very product Jobs so painstakingly labored over to deliver to millions of homes actually creates a blockade to family management today. Computers, it turns out, have a nasty side of their own.

I call it "The Other."

The Other is an unwelcome stranger in our homes. The Other is a cold and unyielding presence who hogs all the attention for himself whenever Moms, Dads and the kids are all together in the same environment and plugged in at the same time. It is the deep depth of the computer monitor your husband or wife or kid is staring at. The Other is the intense tap, tap, tapping out of "important" emails ... just let me get this out and then I'll pay attention, we think ... People used to lament that letter writing was a thing of the past, but lament no longer! Letter writing is emailing and emailing is UP big time.

The Other is what happens when families fail to coexist at home, as a unit. Why? Because you cannot manage your children effectively if you are zoned out on the computer. When children are attempting to do schoolwork and have a problem they need help with and they sit there asking, "Dad? Dad? Dad?" while Dad is staring and typing into his computer, something's not right. Our balance is off.

And this is what's happening in kitchens across America today. While it's wonderful that we can go online lickity split to gather instant information as fast as our little minds may want it, there's an awful side to this, too.

Across the entire world, children, wives and husbands are jockeying to win attention with their laptops, cell phones, hand helds. Moms who once fried chicken for dinner while discussing the kids with Dad now only get face time with their spitting poultry. If Mom is cooking and Johnny comes running through chasing little Timmy with a fork, it's Mom who notices because she's ON in the kitchen. She tells the boys, "Stop boys!," as she monitors the hot stove, but she needs a back up because she's watching the chicken ... only Dad's on a date with The Other ... and it's far more enticing than fried up chicken will ever be. So much for Johnny and Timmy.

Something to think about. And good reason to impose a family-wide, technology-free zone in your home every day. Mom and Dad, too. Families need to connect more and disconnect less.

The Other begone!

My kids love pouring over the endless march of catalogs that get stuffed into our mailbox between Thanksgiving and Christmas (that's a lot of trees, I think!). Who cares if the economy is in the tank and everyone's penny pinching? They're just kids and the catalogs are poring in to lure them forth. For me, I flip through catalogs thinking about all the things I really want but know I don't need. The kids circle the toys fantasizing that what they yearn for is already their's and circling away with their pens to their heart's delight. I pay attention casually ... I will end up getting them one or two things that I know they want but it won't be a gazillion circled things. Ah, the march of consumerism. Somewhere along the way, children catch onto that kerching! train just like their parents do ... only the Christmas machine started even earlier this year than last and has boldly marched forward with a record breaking Black Friday and Cyber Monday. Maybe we all need a little Christmas to cheer us up from the gloomy outlook we hear in the news. Maybe no matter how hard hit we are, we know that Christmas can take us away ... that it's a magical time for our children and that we too can get lost in its glow. This year for the first time ever, we decorated our home before Dec. 1 ... now every night we can have a little Christmas when we plug in the lights decorating the mantel and the wreaths.

While Christmas time may mean new toys and things, things, things to children ... to parents, when you boil all the tinsel, wrapping, price tags, receipts, scotch tape and ornaments down ...

What is Christmas?

Christmas is love.

We need to figure out how to wrap that up and put it under the tree!

Soon enough we'll be going over the river and through the woods, or rather over Mont Eagle and the Tennessee River to grandmother's house in North Carolina for Thanksgiving. This will be the first year in YEARS that we've actually left home for Thanksgiving. We'll be eating at The Carolina Inn and I've got to say, I am thrilled to be getting off the hook this year! While I love Thanksgiving, we've been going hard this fall with all of our activities (why should this fall be different?) so away we go. Only one hang up ... we have to drive 8 hours to get there and be back in time for my son's 8 p.m. performance of "Oliver!" on Friday night. What a whirlwind ... 'Twill be barely time enough to stuff our faces ... much less the bird. Oh wait, I don't have to do that this year. OK then, I'm in! Happy Thanksgiving y'all!

Maybe it's because things are so busy and nutty and maybe it's because my family is always going in several different places at the same time (sports! plays! music! school! work!) but I'm ready to start decorating for Christmas!

Yikes. That's not like me. I usually hold off until after Thanksgiving. Especially because we always buy a real tree — no artificial for me — the longer you wait to put up the tree, the fresher it will be on Christmas Day. And I'm one of those who always scoffs at the early arrival of Christmas commercials and decorations in Walgreen's and so forth ... but not THIS year.

THIS year ... with all the bad news out there in the world ... I want good news in my home A.S.A.P. I want to walk into my attic and pull down all of my oodles of Christmas boxes and open them up with the kids and ooh and aah over the different ornaments and trinkets we have, the different memories that spill forth when looking at the items we've loved over the years.

Getting ready for Christmas is more fun than Christmas itself ... afterall, it lasts longer. And I think, yes, it IS the most wonderful time of the year.

So BRING IT! Here's a little snippet to get YOU in the mood!

http://www.greenhillmusic.com/item/GHD5705_Christmas+Is+Coming+Tribute+To+A+Charlie+Brown+Christmas

I have two big boys and one little boy and the little boy wants to be cool like the big boys. So when they came home with scary masks for Halloween, I thought .... hmmmm. What have we done? I mean, why does my little guy have to have a scary mask? Why can't he be a cowboy or an Oreo or something more benign than ... a horrifying clown? I love Halloween and have wonderful memories of going trick-or-treating with my kids when they were teeny tiny ... when they were dinosaurs and pirates ... Now that I have one little guy who is the perfect age for going out, it bugs me that my older boys are all about scary each other ... and him. They want to scare the kids in the neighborhood, in fact, they've been watching scary movies on TV, and they went to Haunted Nashville (and their Dad even took them to Slaughterhouse). I have no need for that kind of fodder, because I am a weenie. When I was a girl I believed a wooden lady chased me down the stairs. I also believed the Mona Lisa would hop out of the poster that my Dad had up in his writing studio. My imagination is vivid enough without having older kids try to scare the daylight out of me.

So tonight I'm going to tell my older boys that they have to keep themselves in check. I love Halloween as much as anyone, but with all those little kids out there, they should just be having fun!

Long live the weenies!

I had a great teacher conference this past week. My third-grade boy has a marvelous teacher this year, one who has seen it all, worked in administration, taught in college and in numerous other grades ... but she has chosen this year to teach in 3rd. "I love third graders!," she sang to me and I believed her. She is filled with the kind of wisdom that excellent teachers have plus a lot of humor and patience. We agreed that being 9 years old is being in the "heart" of childhood. You are on the brink of the first double digit ages, but not there yet, meanwhile you can do so much more than ever before.

You can, she told me, be responsible for yourself.

Pause. She did that so well. She made me realize without saying it flat out, that my son should be better at doing things on his own without having to be told. In one simple sentence aptly put she let me know that my boy needs improvement in focusing. I appreciate her tactfulness.

I think on my third grader and realize that he's not so little anymore, afterall, and it's time for me to empower him more — and time to stop babying him. Maybe because he's my last ... and because I am holding onto that sweetness that little children bring into your home ... maybe that's why he's been a bit ... detained. By me.

Yes, me. The thing is, most of the time the things our children are going through is related to us, good or bad. Especially when they are young.

So here and now, on this page, with these words, I am changing. I am setting this little boy free — so that he can take responsibility for all that he does and is. For his room and his things, for his school backpack and his sports things ... and everything else that his older brothers are already responsible for.

It is his time. He's just turned 9 and he is getting a set of wings. I'm going to tell him so, too. And we'll see what happens at the next teacher conference. I am hoping he will fly straight once he takes off!

While the homecoming float is built in my backyard (if you've never volunteered to be a homecoming float site, let me tell you, you should!) and kids crawl all over the place with paper flowers, Sharpies, scissors, chicken wire, wood, paint and other assorted arts and crafts thingamabobs, I hear screaming. Screaming like a banshee. It's coming from around the side of the house and it is ear-piercing loud. Boom, around the corner zooms a teenager weilding a wooden sword. Boom, boom and two more teenagers whisk by, both holding other kiddie weaponry ... and their eyes are wild. What does this have to do with building a float? Well, if you have a 9-year-old like I do, a boy thick in the middle of his boyhood, a social boy, so social in fact that he MUST be in the middle of everything and he wants to MAKE the scene, then you know why. The older boys are drawn to him because he is FUN. Fun like they want to have fun. This homecoming stuff is OK, I mean there are plenty of snacks and sodas and everything ... but there are lots of girls who are in charge and doing a lot of work ... and some more serious-minded boys ... but for this crew, BOOM! It's a lot more fun to engage with this little third-grader who will play knights or army to their heart's content. Yes, the screaming is from my 9-year-old who is threatening them with a large stick which I confiscate as he appears from around the house, whipping his head around, looking for his targets which have all but disappeared. When they hear me take the stick away they reappear and drop their weapons.

Truth is, lots of big boys yearn for the fun of chlldhood. So I don't admonish them too much. I watch them from the side of my eyes, smiling inside. They are fun, afterall. Whether or not they are doing what they are here to do. And the thing that I really like: one day, they will all make excellent Daddys!

It amazes me to realize just how much DAILY LOVE my children require!  If I'm grouchy and impatient, if I'm irritable or unkind, everybody is thrown off at my house. If I am loving, affectionate, kind and empathetic, we hum right along.

Do moms and dads require huge doses of daily love too? I think the answer is a resounding YES. We ALL need huge doses of love and affection and that, my friend, is what makes the world go 'round or just plain old stand still.

While my family has never been one to automatically tell each other "I Love you" upon parting ways in the morning, or some such, I have overheard plenty of parents tell their children "I love you" simply when parting ways on a soccer field. While I don't ever want to be one who demands loved ones to tell me they love me even if they don't feel like it, I think we can get those doses in if we work at being better all the time.

So I'm rethinking love. Especially with a 13-year-old boy at home who's acting all independent now and like he doesn't need me. I'm hugging him a lot now whether he wants me to or not.

I get great results from my 8-year-old, for instance, if I use a loving tone of voice as opposed to an impatient, demanding one.

I told my family that I want us all to tell each other we love each other every day, but I'm the one who has to start it because I'm the one who wants it.

I DO require a large dose of daily love and they do, too.

So that's what we're going to do and we're going to add that to doing loving things for each other as well.

Lift your family up. We all need each other more than we can ever put into words, but three small words can make all the difference as we go along.

Looking out my office window at the ducks on the lake, I think, if only I were a duck! I could swim all day and that would be that. I'd have a quacking family, but the most we'd tussle over would be bits of bread tossed our way. The ducklings would not be able to sass me because they'd only quack.

But I'm not a duck. I'm a human. A human mother. And I'm feeling a bit exasperated by it all ... life, not with the ducks, but with the kids. My kids quack and then some. We've all got a lot going on so life is a race ... but then I remember that this life is not just mine. It's THEIR'S too and we're in it together. They share in everything we do. Granted, there's my husband and myself ... MOM and DAD who, being in charge, have to make or break everything that happens. And as we go, go, go I think that I might just sometimes forget that my children are go, go, going, too. So ...

When in the throes of the morning rush, the afternoon homework, the evening whisk off to practice, the dinner hour, the hubbub of full-throttle home life, remember: THEY ARE TOO.

When the day is short and the temper is too, when the meat you had planned for dinner smells odd and there's nothing else available to actually cook and call a meal and a rush to the store is in order while your stomach growls, remember: they are hungry, too.

Empathy works wonders when you're tired and cranky. I think my parents did well in teaching their children to remember others first. It serves me well in parenting.

My parents kept my schedule until I was old enough to take over for myself. They fed me, bathed me, taught me, drove me, scolded me, praised me, laughed, cried and cheered for me.

And while children don't do that same kind of reciprocating on their parents' behalves — they cannot, they are kids — they are 100 percent capable of loving generously which they do, no matter our mood, our difficulties, our shortcomings.

A lapsing moment staring at ducks on the water is strangely satisfying. It has reminded me that the big picture is one that is shared. And one that, at least for this moment in life, I am the parent in, the adult, and they are the children who were gifted to me.

I decided to cold test my kids' writing abilities. Granted we'd been off all summer, but it didn't seem that I was asking too much of my soon-to-be-seventh-grader. Just a one-page review of the book he'd just finished, and a bit of structure to show that he knows a beginning, middle and end.

Disaster.  My boy had no starting point, no idea where to begin, no structure. And he's in the top third of his class.

Why? What's going on? I know schools prioritize math and science, but that's not what will get my boy in the door for a job interview one day. His cover letter and follow up call will ... or won't.

A couple of years ago at our parent orientation as a school year began, I was one of the few to raise my hand with a question.  I was sitting in my older boy's then-eighth-grade English class for the 10-minutes we were given on our evening schedule.  (I'm a writer and business owner and see all kinds of writing submitted daily. When writers are looking to submit a story, they always provide a "Lead" to transition into their submission. The lead itself tells me if the writer can write and if I should bother to continue reading (I might if it's at least an interesting topic)). But writing a cover letter for a job is another thing entirely. You've GOT to be able to communicate clearly, intelligently, both orally and via your writing ability.

And I don't even want to think about college essays. Our kids will be on the big horrendous job search one day. Or maybe YOU are today.

Back to my question at orientation ... the question I asked because I'm a writer.

"Yes?" the teacher asked. I stammered something like, "I am concerned about my son's writing ability ... I mean, will you be working on writing with them? Essays and such?"

She told me the kids would have a large paper due at the end of the year and would continue working on grammar, but that really they would be doing a lot of reading. I was hoping to hear, "Yes! We'll be doing a lot of writing — at least a paper a week!" But no. I did overhear a parent say that Pearson's online writing course is outstanding. (But what about THIS English class here?!) So when I went over to the high school to meet my older daughter's English Honors teacher that same orientation year, I asked the same question. Her teacher told me that students should know how to write before the time they arrive at his course. Really?

The thing is, nobody's teaching kids to write after 6th grade so the window is in 3rd, 4th and 5th. Only my now 7th-grader was clueless at go.

It's no wonder then that 40 percent of college freshmen are taking remedial writing courses! Parents are paying colleges to teach kids what they should have learned years ago!

So back to home essays. Time to avert disaster. If my kids and yours are going to get ahead in life we've got to take action at the kitchen table.

Parent involvement NOW means kitchen table writing.

That's the right stuff ... or should I say the WRITE stuff.

We got up at 6 a.m. and headed to Santa Claus, Indiana for Holiday World! Since we have no amusement park in Music City U.S.A. (it's practically sacrilegious, isn't it?), we joined the thousands who seek out thrills each summer. No, it's not Disney World, but Holiday World does lots of things right and even BETTER than Disney, believe it or not. There were only two drawbacks I could come up with as we drove away after 8:30 park closing that night, one being that when you arrive and park, the entrance is downright dismal (why?!) Second being, well, how to put this ... that when you're hanging around in your swimsuit at Splashin' Safari you sure do see an awful lot of ... well, a lot of jumbo hanging out right before your eyes. There's really no easy way of putting that.  But toss that idea aside, and concentrate on what's great GREAT!!!

TOP TEN REASONS TO LOVE HOLIDAY WORLD

1) PEPSI OASIS

My 15-year-old thought this was the coolest aspect of the park.  Pepsi Oasis centers are located throughout Holiday World with "In" and "Out" doors.  Go in the "In" door, grab a cup and fill it with your favorite soda or tea — it's free, there's never a line because people move swiftly on their own.  Brilliant!

2) FREE SUNSCREEN STATIONS!

3) AFFORDABLE, TASTY FOOD

I must say, compared to Disney World where a meal plan is a must if you don't want to survive on french fries, Holiday World is great for food. For six of us, we spent $27 on a family meal of an extra-large pizza, cookies and bread sticks and added our free drinks.  Who can beat that?  Throughout the park there are amazing kiosks for treats, too, including a spot where we got blue ice cream!

4) PEOPLE SERVE YOU HAPPILY!

The workers at HW go out of their way to help you and they look at you, too. They say, "My pleasure," like the Chick-Fil-A folks and smile in a genuine way.

5) FAMILY OWNED!

Holiday World was once called Santa Claus Land and was started by a guy named Louis Koch as a retirement project (he had nine children and loved holidays!).  It's still owned by the Koch family today, in fact, Pat Koch (she married into the family and her Dad used to play Santa Claus at the park), is on site daily.

6) The Wildebeest!

In Splashin' Safari, the longest water coaster in the world can be found.  Added just last year, it's worth the trip

7) The Coasters!

Yes, they may be a bit hard on the bum, but the old-fashioned roller coasters at HW can't be beat.  There are four great coasters and you've got to ride The Voyage. You'll be amazed at how long the ride actually is.

8) Clean bathrooms!

Germ-a-phobes unite! The bathrooms are clean, they are cleaned constantly all day long, and you don't have to groan that you've got to go in there!

9) Nursing Station

All I know is, if I was still breastfeeding a baby, I would gratefully appreciate the air-conditioned space Holiday World provides a mom and babe when needed.

10) Lines that move along

There may be no fast passes or express lines at Holiday World, but the lines move fairly swiftly, and the park provides drinking water along the way.

All Hail to Burger King for being the first fast-food chain to commit to children's nutrition.  The eatery, along with 18 other restaurants across the nation, including locally, Bonefish Grill, Carraba's, Chili's, Outback, IHop, Joe's Crab Shack and Cracker Barrell have signed on to the National Restaurant Association's Kids Live Well campaign. The launch of Kids Live Well has only just begun, but any movement toward getting parents and kids to think more about what they're actually eating is a good one.  Here in the South, fast food is the norm and it's a big reason why we're considered among the laziest states in the country.  For busy moms and dads, sometime's it's a whole lot easier to drive your car up to a window and hand a warm sack back to your children than it is to shop for lean chicken and a vegetable to go with it, take it home and cook it, then set the table to eat.

In all, at least 15,000 restaurant locations are taking part in the Kids Live Well campaign and lets hope it gains major traction.  Those little bags of sliced apples you see languishing in the refrigerator at Subway might actually start to seem more appealing.

But what exactly do the restaurants aim to do? They claim they'll focus on increasing fruits and vegetables, lean proteins, whole grains and low-fat dairy.  The items will have less fats, sugars and sodiums. What's great is the eateries can't just claim they'll do it, THEY HAVE TO.  That means the race is on to make healthy food taste as good as the rest of it.

But a major nod to Burger King for being the first fast-food giant to jump into the commitment (tsk, tsk McDonald's, Wendy's, Jack in the Box, etc.)  To be a part of the program, the King will have to include at least one kids' item that is 600 calories or less and meets other nutritional requirements, too.  Wait, I know. I said ONE KIDS' ITEM.  That is a measly slice of the obesity pie, isn't it?

Like I said, it is welcomed news, even if it is baby steps forward.  Hopefully soon those steps will turn into giant ones.

Mother, May I?

A new gallup poll says if given the chance to have only one child, Americans would prefer a son over a daughter.  Please!  Why waste time on polls like this? What's the point?

Some of my favorite childhood memories come from when I'd ride my bicycle into town with my best friend, Nancy.  We lived about a mile from town, and had to travel on a main road where cars went 45 miles per hour for a little bit before we could turn off into the town graveyard's wide, free paths.  That busy road didn't have but one foot or more of shoulder room, and we were 10 years old. So I remember the relief I felt when we got to the graveyard ... but the fact that our mothers let us go ... is a marvel to me now.  I wouldn't dream of letting my kids go at 10 years old like that.  I'd have a hard time letting my 13-year-old go ... but I'd like to be less skittish.  I think kids are so much better off if you don't constantly take the protective tac.  When I think of the fun Nancy and I had without our moms around ... Sometimes we'd just walk to town.  And we'd come back with fists full of candy.  One time we discovered a pack of cigarettes on the side of the road and yes, you bet, we tried smoking.  We were kids!  We had to learn that smoking a first cigarette makes you cough and cough and cough.  We couldn't believe how cool we were and we sealed a binding moment forever in our minds. We'd tool around in town, even enter the town's Reformed Church and take turns giving sermons at the pulpit. We'd get all serious in there ... I loved the very stillness in the church, the tiny pencils in the wooden slots behind each pew, the colorful etched glass. I loved reading the words "You shall know the truth and the truth shall set you free," carved into a wooden table just below the pulpit and not knowing what that meant, but feeling the mystery of it none the same. Eventually we'd mosey out and kill time on our own, watching others and finally making our way to the 5 and Dime for the big kill: bags of candy we'd buy for our sleepover on the backporch where we'd eat the stuff all night long. We relished in the world on our own.

But when we biked to town ... I wonder if my mother worried about us.  I wonder if she felt tight in her chest when we'd set out and then breathed easier when we'd get home.  Was it just a different time and are we that much stricter now? Probably. We have so much more access to awful information today than our parents did. Someone told me that the same amount of terrible things happened before the Internet came into our lives, only we just didn't hear about it.  Now we hear terrible things constantly and have learned to ignore much of it, yet it I'm certain it brings subconscious fears into our parenting.

I live in a development where many of my neighbors won't let their kids ride bikes alone because there are construction workers and "unknowns" around.  I think that's over-the-top.  How's a kid supposed to learn to be?  How's a kid supposed to learn to dream if they can't do something simple like ride a bike on her own? Or at least with a best friend.

I'm all for letting kids try things without us around ... But thank goodness for the security blanket of a cell phone — I'm always just a phone call away!