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The school buses are ready to roll. Students have their new shoes laced good and tight. New backpacks are filled with shiny new supplies. Butterflies are busy in the tummies of newbie teachers and students. The start of school in Wisconsin is here!

This fall, Lucy is five years old. Since she will not be attending a “school” in the next few days, I guess that means one thing…we are “officially” homeschoolers. Of course, our fellow homeschoolers (who in 2013 made up 3.4% of the U.S. student population) would agree that we’ve been homeschooling since she was a baby. Tru dat!

What will Lucy be doing on the first day of school in Wisconsin?

She’ll be in East St. Louis with her family, at an in-service where her Daddy is speaking, to help a bunch of Head Start teachers fight Adultitis this school year. The day before, we’ll be at the St. Louis Zoo, where she’ll get to see her favorite animal (cheetah!) up close and personal.

It’s pretty neat. I’m feeling blessed that she can join us on this journey to rid the world of Adultitis. At the innocent age of five, she “gets” this mission. When asked recently what Adultitis is, Lucy said confidently, “It is where you lose your happiness!” Yessiree! 

For all of you fellow homeschoolers, or just curious folks out there, a common question we receive is, “What’s your homeschooling philosophy?” After years of reading, researching, and LOTS of discussion, we’re thrilled to have our philosophy in our heart and head as we start/continue this journey of home educating Lucy, Ben, and Virginia.

Our-schooling: Self-directed, adult-facilitated life learning in the context of their own unique interests.

BOOM. 

We adopted this exact wording from a very neat article we read recently about homeschooling by Ben Hewitt. Granted, it’s a mouthful, but every word is intentional and makes me excited and proud to be on this adventure.

I’m the type of person who’s going to ugly cry on the day of my kids’ weddings. I’ve known since the day my first child was born. But even then, I knew I’d rather cry in gratitude over all the cool memories we created than in regret over the things I missed out on.

Which is why I’m so glad Kim and I made it a priority early on to become hoarders.

It seems that everyone hoards something. Some people hoard stuff. Some people hoard money.

We are memory hoarders.

Rather than fill our home with stuff, we’d rather fill our lives with adventures.

Which one are you? When an unexpected $100 appears in your life, what’s your first impulse about where it should go?

When we have extra money after living expenses, some of it goes into savings, but the rest goes into experiences. I think back fondly to one summer when the kids were little, when we…

• Went to a bubble-blowing flash mob.
• Took the kids fishing with Grandpa.
• Hosted a summer cookout for our family.
• Went to a Madison Mallards baseball game and a month later, watched a fireworks show from the outfield.
• Saw a flick at the drive-in movie theater.
• Toured the Milwaukee Public Museum and learned about butterflies and dinosaurs and Native Americans.
• Played at Bay Beach amusement park in Green Bay.
• Spent a week in Galena, Illinois, with my family, where we swam, played pool, and rolled down a huge hill overlooking the river.
• Helped Lucy run her first Lemonade Stand to raise money for Kindermusik.
• Ate 18-inch corn dogs and sat awestruck at acrobats from Africa at the Wisconsin State Fair.
• Enjoyed an exciting performance by the Mad City Water Ski Team.

Many of them were completely free. Others cost money. But here’s the thing: At the time, we didn’t have cable. We only had one car. We rarely bought new clothes or appliances or DVDs or any other thing that could be labeled as “stuff.” In fact, we were often selling old stuff so we could have more money for experiences. 

To this day, as soon as we finish one adventure, we’re already plotting our next one.

Will Dean, co-founder of the Tough Mudder endurance event series, sums up our attitude perfectly: “Experience is the new luxury. Unlike an iPhone, which depreciates over time, memories and experiences actually appreciate over time.”

Nowhere is this more evident than with the screensaver on our TV. It pulls our photos from the cloud and places them into a slideshow. Our most recent adventures, displayed in hi-def. It makes us feel incredibly rich. 

On Lucy’s wedding day, I have no doubt that I will be proud and grateful to have been a memory hoarder.

When you’re a kid, dressing up all fancy for dinner is exciting. Although it can be fun for grown-ups too, it doesn’t take long for Adultitis to creep in when one begins to worry about which fork to use or whether or not you have spinach in your teeth. The premise of an Olde Timey Dinner — one of the highlights from the 2014 Escape Adulthood Summit — is to keep the fun and ditch the pretense.

You don’t need to attend an Escape Adulthood Summit to experience the fun of Ye Olde Timey Dinner. Here are some tips for hosting your own:

what to eat

You can serve whatever you want, but the most important thing is to use the good china. If you need some convincing, read this. Even Kraft Macaroni & Cheese takes on a gourmet status when served on fancy plates. (If you don’t have any fancy plates, just put the lights down low and light a few candles — instant fancy!)

If you need some inspiration, we had fun putting a childlike spin on the traditional seven-course format with the following menu:

Appetizer: PB&J Sushi Rolls
Soup: ABC Vegetable Soup
Salad: Fruit Shish-kabob with Drizzled Yogurt Sauce
Sorbet: Dreamsicle
Fish Entree: Fruity Pebbles Encrusted Tilapia with Strawberry-Mango-Jalapeño Salsa and green beans
Meat Entree: Bacon Cheeseburger Slider with house-made Potato Chips
Dessert: Key Lime Tart 

what to wear

Get gussied up! We provided pearl necklaces, top hats, DIY bow ties, feather-adorned flapper girl headbands, and fake mustaches for attendees to complement their jeans and t-shirts. Feather boas and long gloves are naturals as well. Nothing wrong with requiring guests to wear real dress-up clothes, if that floats your boat. You could challenge people to come outfitted with the fanciest clothes they can find at a second-hand store, with the requirement of bringing the receipt as proof.

what to listen to

Music is an important element of Ye Olde Timey Dinner. We found a collection of hits from the 1920s, which was a perfect soundtrack. You could also dig out some jazz or classical music, depending on what kind of mood you’re looking for.

what to talk about

We put tent cards at each table that encouraged diners to pepper their conversations with old-fashioned words and phrases. (See top photo.) Frankly, it was one of the best parts of the whole affair. Keep in mind that a thorough understanding of each word is not required. Bonus laughter came when someone blurted out the word nonsensically. You can download the tent cards we used right here. (Just print them on card stock, cut them down the middle, fold ’em in half, and you’re good to go.)

So that’s the gist of an Olde Timey Dinner. The goal of this article is to get you started, but we also hope that you put your own spin on the concept and share your ideas in the comments below!

Don’t dilly dally on this opportunity to starve Adultitis. May your shenanigans raise a ruckus to remember!

How can you tell if the story you’re living is any good?

Before a speech I gave recently, the executive director of the organization that hired me was sharing the results of a survey they had commissioned to evaluate their effectiveness. By all accounts, this organization had met or exceeded all of their performance metrics. But as the leader admitted, “most performance metrics don’t tell a really good story.”

She’s right, you know. Things like income, expenses, and profit margins can give us a handy snapshot of the health and growth of an organization. But they do not tell the whole story. In fact, they can be a rather poor reflection of happiness delivered or lives changed.

After all, who can accurately measure how profoundly a soul has been moved? Or the precise generational impact of a tool that empowers an individual to lift themselves out of poverty? It’s much easier to calculate the things that are easily measured — like last quarter’s profits — and assume everything else takes care of itself. At best, this technique only provides part of the story. At worst, it can lead us down some bad roads.

Even more dangerous is when we measure our lives in the same way. Just like in business, our personal lives have a set of standard metrics that make for easy guideposts, not just to chart our own progress, but to compare ourselves with others.

Here are a few:

How much money do you make? How many Facebook friends do you have? How many square feet make up your home? What is it worth? What titles do you have or awards have you won? How many degrees have you earned? How many letters are after your name? How many hours do you work? How big is your office? How expensive is your car? What is your kids’ GPA? How many extracurricular activities are they involved in? How much money does that cost you? What about their tuition? How many boards do you serve on?

The answers to each of those questions are easily calculated. Many of us spend the majority of our time monitoring those stats while assuming that our efforts spent to increase them will result in a corresponding uptick in the quality of our story.

Not so fast. Just because something can be measured doesn’t make it important.

Try these questions on for size:

How interesting is your life? How adventurous is it? How fulfilled are you? How much of a difference are you making? How loved do you feel? How excited are you to start each day? How happy are you? How content?

That last group of questions is awfully hard to quantify. But they have a lot more to do with the awesomeness of your story than the size of your paycheck, your home, or your kids tuition bill.

What’s a sadder reflection on our modern educational system: the fact that “School’s Out” by Alice Cooper is the de facto theme for students everywhere this time of year, or the fact that almost no one stops to consider that maybe it’s a problem that so many people feel this way about school?

I wonder… is “Thou shalt be excited when school’s out for the summer” a rule that doesn’t need to exist?

I’ll admit, the first day of summer vacation for me was always gloriously delicious. It meant freedom. But freedom from what, exactly?

• Freedom from being told what to do all day long.
• Freedom from having to jump through hoops for other people.
• Freedom from having to spend most of the day memorizing facts and being lectured to about things I had no interest in whatsoever.
• Freedom from the pressure of having to measure up to the artificial standards of coolness as decided on by a consensus of my immature peers.
• Freedom from tests and book reports and homework!

What if you reimagined school so that every day felt like the first day of summer vacation?

• Freedom to finally spend most of my day on projects you are interested in.
• Freedom to spend a whole day (or week!) on a project if you wanted to.
• Freedom to spend more time outside in nature.
• Freedom to spend more time around (and be friends with) people of different ages and backgrounds.
• Freedom to be yourself and not worry about what’s “cool” or not.
• Freedom to do nothing once in a while.

That, my friends, is called homeschooling.

For me, it’s weird to think of taking a break from learning. The truth is that kids are learning every day, whether they are in school or not. So am I. So are you. But I get it. For kids, school is associated with learning. That’s why we’re sent, to learn stuff. So naturally, if school stinks, so must learning.

Maybe I’m alone, but I think it’s sad that the surge of freedom associated with the first day of summer vacation is such a common feeling in our society.

One of the things that excites me most about our homeschooling adventure — especially with the interest-based approach we are taking — is the chance to make Mr. Cooper’s rock standard sound like a song from another planet to my kids. 

Now that would really rock.

I approached the bandana-wearing barista and bared my soul.

“I have a confession to make,” I started. “I am a coffee virgin. I’ve never had more than a sip my whole life.”

“Uh oh,” she said. “And you came here, of all places?”

The “here” she was speaking of was Anodyne Coffee. I was in Milwaukee working on the first draft for my next book. I’d heard good things about the place and figured it would be a good spot to work. I love coffee shops, from the exotic smells to the hipster vibe. The only thing is, I don’t drink coffee.

Well, I didn’t.

On the twenty-minute walk from my hotel, the thought crossed my mind that maybe my trip to the coffee shop should include me drinking, you know, actual coffee. Even though I’d only ever had sips, I was pretty sure I wouldn’t like it, and it seemed like a pretty good way to waste $4.

Then I remembered Stanley. It was clear that, regardless of my opinion of the coffee, ordering it would make for a better story than not. And at that, my decision was made.

“Normally I’d order a hot chocolate or something,” I explained to the barista, “But I figured today is the day. What would you recommend for a first-time coffee drinker? What’s a good gateway drink?”

“Well,” she began, “If you like hot chocolate, you might want to try a mocha. It’s kind of like a hot chocolate with coffee in it.”

“Sounds good!”

“Do you want whipped cream?” she asked.

“Sure, let’s get crazy!”

After receiving my drink, I found a spot to sit and took a sip. Instant deliciousness. Suddenly, a surefire way to waste $3.54 became a contender for the best $3.54 I’d ever spent. In an instant, a new world opened up before me. A delightful buzz coursed through my veins as I pounded out a few chapters of the book. I decided to order another one.

I was a little concerned when the barista asked me if I wanted to “make it decaf this time, just in case?”

Just in case what? I thought to myself. I declined, deciding to cast my cares to the wind. I had a book to write after all!

I will say that I felt a lot like Jim Carrey in the movie Dumb & Dumber, when he was in the van, furiously pumping his arms back and forth, and said, “It’s like I’m running at an unbelievable rate, Harry!”

One thing’s for sure. It may have been my first coffee, but it won’t be my last. I am certainly glad I took the plunge.

Now, to the billions of coffee drinkers worldwide, me trying coffee for the first time is as trivial as it gets. (Although being the last person on a bandwagon may be somewhat notable.) But that doesn’t matter. What does matter is that I ignored Adultitis and said yes to something that had the potential to make my story better. Even if I had not liked coffee, at least I wouldn’t have the regret of wondering if I would have and wishing I’d tried it.

This is an excellent example of what I call tinkering: Little experiments of little consequence that have the potential to move your story in exciting new directions. For me, trying coffee was a case of tinkering. If I liked it, awesome! If not, no big deal. Either way, my propensity for adventure got a little bigger, and my story got a little better.

Don’t discount the small steps you could take today to make your story more awesome.

You never know where something as small as a sip could lead.

What’s something small you’ve done in the last week that made your story more awesome?

The other day, I missed out on a good story.

I was in Toronto dropping off a rental car at the airport. In the parking garage, I saw two people getting their picture taken with the Stanley Cup. It was such a weird scene. A guy had pulled it out of a big trunk that was on the ground next to a white Suburban. A young couple grinned excitedly as the guy snapped their photo on a smartphone as I walked by.

For a brief second, my inner child excitedly suggested that I ask to have my picture taken with it, too. Unfortunately, Adultitis took over from there as questions flooded my mind.

Is that really the Stanley Cup? I mean, what are the chances? If it’s a fake, you’ll look like a real idiot.

You don’t even know the guy, and he looks like he knows those two people. Who are you to ask if you can get a picture with it? What if he says no?

He’s probably really busy anyway; he won’t appreciate the intrusion. Besides, it’s none of your business, and you have a plane to catch.

In retrospect, all of those questions are pretty easily answered with a big “so what?” And as I dropped off the keys, I learned that the two people who got their picture taken were employees of the rental car company, which had a bunch of banners up proudly displaying their sponsorship with the NHL.

Dangit.

I proceeded to the airport, frustrated that my iPhone was without a fresh snapshot of me and the Stanley Cup. 

To be fair, I am an introvert, which means it takes a little time to process things in my head before I can speak or act. It’s hard for me to be spontaneous, and the whole scenario unfolded over about 15 seconds. (Extroverts tend to have an easier time reacting quickly to new stimuli.) This quality is a real benefit when it keeps me from blurting out something I’d likely regret, but it stinks when it keeps me from a great story.

But I don’t want to use that as a complete cop-out either. Because at its core, the thing that paralyzed me was fear, mostly of what other people might think. Now, I’ve made great strides in this department over the years, but it’s pretty rare to find someone who is completely immune to this condition. 

Trouble is, the more stock we put in what other people think, the more freedom we surrender. We miss out on the joy that comes from doing our own thing. We miss out on the fulfillment that comes from expanding our comfort zone. And sometimes, we miss out on the chance to add a cool scene to our story.

The good news is that any time I encounter another chance for a great story, I’m pretty sure “Remember Stanley!” will pop into my head, urging me to action. Now maybe it will for you, too.

Anybody else out there who can relate to this? Share your story (or missed story) in the comments!

This is a wonderful April Fool’s Day prank that’s fun to do all year long. Just be aware of the national emergency you will cause for everyone around you.

Well, some people will not even notice. But the ones who do are likely to drive miles — I mean MILES, people — out of their way to let you know that you have Taco Bell on the top of your car. Of course, you and the people driving with you have the task of acting clueless. That’s part of the fun (and a challenge).

One guy reported to me that it’s the perfect way to occupy kids on long road trips. They love watching the reactions of other drivers!

One thing’s for sure, there’s no easier or cheaper way to have fun in any economy than “Sticky Cup.”

Adultitis was kicking our butt.

It had been exactly a month since Virginia Rose was born. A good month, to be sure, but also a long one. Weary of the bitter cold weather, our entire family was tired of being cooped up, and the older two kids were passing the time by pushing our buttons. Two-year-old Ben had a streak of purple under his nose, a colorful souvenir from “smelling” the markers we used to keep him quiet. Although we pined for an afternoon at a Florida beach, it was decided that going out to lunch was the best we could hope for today.

As I went to wipe the marker from Ben’s face, Kim made some comment about him looking a bit like Hitler. Then she said, “I wish we could just draw mustaches on our kids, wouldn’t that be awesome?”

“It would be,” I agreed.

“Why don’t we?” she asked. 

I could tell by her tone that she was kind of serious. And so I paused to ponder a serious response.

“Because of what other people might think,” I answered. 

Before I even finished the sentence, I knew what I had to do. 

“Give me that purple marker,” I said. After glancing to confirm it was the washable variety, I removed the cap and called Ben over. Then I drew a bold and curly mustache on my son. Although he cooperated, it’s fair to say he had no idea what I was doing.

“Ok.” I proclaimed. “NOW, let’s go to lunch.

And we did, with our purple mustachioed son in tow. 

It did garner some attention. No calls from DCFS, as Adultitis had warned. Instead, the people who noticed universally responded with smiles of delight at my oblivious son, who looked like a tiny ringleader in a circus sponsored by Willy Wonka. And it was awesome.

Here’s a tip: If you are faced with an opportunity to do something, and the only reason you don’t is because of what someone else might think, you can be certain that Adultitis is up to no good. If you are serious about winning this war, and you are desirous of living an amazing story, you must do that very thing, without hesitation. You must.

Family with spring fever and three kids, five and under: 1, Adultitis: 0. 

Share a time when YOU did something fun without regard to what other people might think. Leave a comment below!

I’ll admit it: I prefer a tidy house. I feel good when the dishes are done and the counter is cleared. I’m easily disturbed when piles stay piles for too long. I like the structure of a good plan.

Is it an Adultitis-fueled trait? Perhaps. But I do find that I am more present, relaxed, and creative when clutter and chaos are minimized. In general, I don’t think it’s a terrible trait to have. And I don’t believe that an Adultitis-free life disregards any sense of order.

However. I do find it helpful to regularly remind myself of some simple truths:

Sometimes budgets get blown and well-made plans go poof.

Sometimes grass stains are inevitable, and torn jeans are unavoidable.

Sometimes eggs get broken, milk gets spilled, and the kitchen gets dusted in a fine layer of flour.

The most direct route is rarely the most scenic, and sometimes wrong turns can lead to the best discoveries.

Sometimes a scaled-down replica of the Wisconsin State Fair takes over an entire bedroom for several days.

Sometimes life doesn’t go the way we planned, expected, or even hoped.

Adventures are rarely tidy. 

Sometimes the best memories arise from the biggest messes.

How about you? What’s your favorite “messy” memory?