It was about ten years ago. I was sitting in the basement with a couple of friends, huddled around our desktop computer. If memory serves me right, they had stopped by to get a little help with setting up their own blog and to taste my borscht. Blogs I knew, but ask me anything else about the computer and I had to call the kids in for help. You know how it goes... It was around 5:30 pm. That I remember because we had just finished eating dinner together before we went down stairs. Laughing and chatting and clicking away, we kept ourselves busy until something stopped us dead in our tracks.
It was my 12-year old son.
"Thanks for the wonderful meal, Mom!" He hollered down from the kitchen.
Spinning around in her chair, my friend gasped, "What decade are we in?"
And with that we broke out in laughter.
Obviously this was a foreign concept to them, but to us it was an everyday thing.
I remember specifically training my children to thank me after each and every meal. "Bring your dishes to the sink, and thank the person who cooked it." That was our rule whether they were at home or away.
And not just a simple, "Thanks," either. I wanted them to pause for a moment and express a little more than one word. I'll admit it felt silly at times asking someone else to stop and thank me, but it's my job as their teacher to lead them in truth.
[Read the rest of the article at Time-Warp Wife.]