"Basically, every day between 3-5 p.m., our house is open to anyone and everyone," writes Coffee + Crumbs founder Ashlee Gadd
Credit: Ashlee Gadd
In my late twenties — knee deep in diapers, burp cloths and seven different kinds of swaddling blankets — I could hardly fathom a future where my kids would wipe their own butts, let alone walk the halls of a middle school. Alas, as all the other mothers before me can attest, I blinked and here we are: my oldest son will finish 8th grade in a few weeks.
It feels like only yesterday that we sent him off to middle school sporting a new backpack and fresh pair of Crocs. I had far more anxiety than he did. What if he gets lost? What if he messes up his schedule? What if he can't find his friends at lunch? While I've never been one of those helicopter moms, I secretly took solace in knowing that if anything went awry, I could be on the campus in 30 seconds. Literally: Our house and the school's soccer field share a fence.
Eight years ago, we bought the dumpiest house in our dream neighborhood, a small rancher built in 1950 that backs up to a middle school. My son has used this convenience to his advantage more than once, occasionally forgetting something — shorts for PE, a permission slip, $5 for ice cream — at which point my husband or I, who both work from home, will fling whatever he needs over the fence. We'll hear a quick "thank you!" from the soccer field, and go back to our days.
Obviously this kind of proximity has its perks. Namely, it's one less drop-off and pick-up we have to do each day. But another key advantage has formed over time, too: we’ve become the house where the kids hang out after school.
Every day at roughly 2:50 p.m., dozens of cars temporarily line our street while teenagers flood the block looking for their parents. My son simply walks the 0.1 mile trek home, often with a few friends in tow. Like clockwork, the front door opens, backpacks are tossed on the floor in a chaotic pile, I hear a rummage through the snack drawer, and they race out the back door to play basketball. We're nearly three whole years into this routine and I can hardly remember a time when I didn't see a gaggle of boys — all rocking the same messy tousled hair and white crew socks — shooting hoops through the window.
Credit: Ashlee Gadd
At some point, I reached out to the parents in an effort to communicate what I finally named an "Open-Door Policy" for our home. Basically, every day between 3-5 p.m., our house is open to anyone and everyone. My son's friends don't need to ask permission if they can come over. They are welcome anytime.
Sometimes the boys stay for 20 minutes, sometimes an hour or longer. They usually shoot hoops in the backyard, but occasionally they do homework, take our dog for a walk, ride bikes to the park, or mess around with LEGOs.
We really only have two rules: 1) Nobody is allowed on the Internet, 2) You can have as many snacks as you want.
This is the key to being the house where the kids hang out: you have to feed them. My younger mom self — bless her and her homemade baby food — would cringe looking at my recent Costco haul. So many granola bars. So many rice krispy treats. So many Doritos, Cheetos and Fritos.
Poor nutritional offerings aside, I've come to recognize our home as a type of "third place" — a term coined by sociologist Ray Oldenburg. Typically third places include things like cafes, parks, or libraries; somewhere that is not home or work, or — in the case of children — school. Third places are crucial for combating loneliness by providing a free (or relatively inexpensive) environment to relax, connect, and socialize. A "home away from home," if you will.
Credit: Ashlee Gadd
I'll be the first to admit, I haven't always had a positive attitude when a group of boys have come blitzing through the house, leaving their smelly shoes everywhere and decimating our snack drawer. But the longer this routine has gone on, the more I've started to view it as something sacred. We're providing more than just a house for the kids to hang out; more than a never-ending supply of potato chips. What we're really offering here is a landing place. A safe transition spot between school and home to decompress, replenish carbs, and work out any post-school anxiety on the basketball hoop.
My kids need me less and less these days. On the one hand, the newfound freedom is liberating. On the other hand, I occasionally miss the days when they needed me more. Sometimes motherhood feels like one ongoing act of recalibration. As my children continue to grow and change, I keep asking myself, "How can I be the mom they need?"
Credit: Zondervan
I'm still figuring out how to parent tweens and teens, but I'm learning that flinging open the front door and keeping the kitchen stocked with snacks is a good place to start.
In the fall, my oldest son will start high school 2.5 miles away, just as his younger brother will start 6th grade at the middle school behind our house. We're swapping one gaggle of boys for another, but not much else will change. Our door will stay open. We'll keep air in the basketballs. And I will continue buying chips in bulk every time I go to Costco.
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