A mother approached me the other day and asked, “What’s your best advice to parents?”

Wow? I wonder if she wants three hours of advice? Doubtful. “Hmm. That’s a most interesting question, and I have to think about it. When I have an answer, you’ll be the first to know.” For several days, I relived my memories of my daughters’ childhood. I was flooded with the highs, the middles, and the lows because certainly parenthood is fluid. Just when my former husband and I thought we had it figured out, an antic, an illness, or an action caused us to change direction. And if someone asked our children about our parenting, they’d probably have a variety of opinions.

However, I think the best thing we did as parents was to build a kid house–a house where kids were always welcomed…and supervised. Our daughters’ bedrooms were on the second floor; I referred to that arrangement as “out of sight, out of mind.” I didn’t care how messy their rooms and bathroom were. I didn’t fret about unmade beds, streaky mirrors, or dirty towels. Of course, I insisted they throw their dirty clothes downstairs to the laundry, and several times a week I’d go upstairs and tidy up the mess. I also made it clear that those rooms were not their sole property and therefore were subject to my scrutiny. Yes, on several occasions, I did find some questionable things, like a lighter, a pack of cigarettes, and an airplane-size bottle of vodka.

However, their bedrooms were off-limits to visitors of the opposite sex by the time they went to middle school. We enlarged a room off the family room/ kitchen replete with a TV, cd player, Nintendo, and lots of board games. Twenty years before it became a rage, we installed a pickleball court with a basketball hoop, and like almost every house in Phoenix, there was a swimming pool in our backyard. We built it, and they came! At least one night of most weekends. Given that we’d known most of their parents since they were in elementary school, our rules were clear: no smoking, no drinking, no making out, no being a jerk, or I’ll call you mom and have her come and get you.

Of course, I always made sure we had food and drinks on hand. But the kids were so comfortable here they didn’t hesitate to say, “Mama Skid, you’re almost out of fruit snacks.” Or, “Can you make two lasagnas next weekend? Joey ate a whole one tonight.”

When they all went off to college, they still congregated during the holidays at the kid house. But now, they’re all in their late thirties and early forties now, many of them are married, some of them have kids, and others have long since moved away. Yesterday, I went upstairs in search of something. I opened each bedroom door. Pristine. Beds tightly made. Everything order. I walked into the bathroom. Towels neatly displayed, clutterless counter top, sparkling clean mirror. Hmm. I closed the lid on the ivory toilet and sat. Then, a tear escaped. “Oh dear God, I miss the mess! I miss my kids! I miss a house full of their friends.”

So my best advice to you, my friend, is build a kid house. It doesn’t need a pool, nor a trampoline. It simply needs to be a place where kids can go, have fun, and feel safe. Where kids can express their opinions and are treated with respect. But–where kids have rules, expectations, and consequences for their behavior. Trust me, your kids and their friends will thank you for it.