I find myself holding my breath these days. I'll be sitting on the couch or standing by a door, and all of a sudden I will realize I am not breathing. I have teenagers in the house. Two teenagers and one preteen. If ever I wondered if I could survive parenting, these are the years that will render the verdict. My son interrupts my train of thought just now to say, "Why did you have to birth all boys, Mom," as if he is reading over my shoulder. He is not, in fact. He simply knows somewhere inside himself that he and his brothers are quite capable of sending me over the edge.

I wake up most mornings quite hopeful--that I will stay calm, be reasonable, act my age. Yet, as the day progresses, my resolve is challenged and slowly diminished as boys rumble and roll around my house--defraying their energies in every possible direction, twinging and banging, slapping and grabbing, calling out in loud pre-manly calls, testing their viability as men-boys. As I write, David has been reduced to tears by Michael. They were just playing, you know. Wrestling, you know. Suddenly David cries out in pain and the excuses come rolling like waves on the sand out of Michael's mouth. Another five minutes of my day.

I know I am not alone. When we are in public, we require our children to stand tall, walk confidently, issue proper manners when necessary, be honest, be kind, open doors for ladies and seniors. They accomplish these things with magnificent ease--with only an occasional reminder--especially regarding the door thing. I have to believe that our parenting skills, lack as they may be, are at least teaching our children to maintain some sense of decorum out in the general view of the world.

But what is that quote I've heard? "Character is who you are when no one is watching." Ah, the rub of parental achievement. When the doors close, my house becomes an utter rumpus room, a battleground, a three ring circus, a place where communications are shouted from room to room and manners seem to be left at doors outside somewhere with the ladies and seniors. 

Are there others out there who are willing to say, "Yes, we unravel a bit when the world is reduced to the safety of our walls." I say safety and not privacy, though privacy is a factor. I am leaning to the idea that my boys, because they are still boys, are comfortable enough in the confines of this home to let their guards down, be a little wild, throw a few punches, knowing they are safe. Knowing that when the lines of acceptability are crossed, they will be roped in, redirected, made to do a number of push ups or settle into household chores. Knowing they will be reminded that home is a training ground where the boundaries can be pushed and sometimes redefined as they each progress through the seasons of childhood within these walls. 

By grace, I will start breathing regularly again in a few more years. By grace the house will stand and our history will congeal in a bundle of memories that ring in the walls, run down the hallway, and eventually step out the open door.