We do not kowtow to their every whim, nor are we entirely focused on being their "friends." Our children are well taken care of, yet not spoiled. They all know how to speak with adults, and enjoy being treated with respect by adults in return.
Yes, we have our issues. We don't always agree about things, but we can communicate and come to a mutual agreement to resolve conflicts. All in all I'd say we were doing a pretty good job at this parenting gig. I'm happy with it.
Here are some other things about my kids that make me happy:
- they love to go to church, especially the teenagers!
- they (generally) get along with each other, EVEN the teenagers!
- they are good eaters, and will try pretty much anything. Except for Jack. He is not a good eater, but he's 2. Typical.
- they are all very excited to see whomever walks in the door, be it Mom, Dad, or their siblings.
- they are not afraid to say "I love you," even in front of their friends - even the teenagers!
Carly is the best at taking care of things that need to be done. I'm a busy woman, and I admit that sometimes I don't wipe the counter down, or put everything in its place. Carly sees things that need to be done and does them without being asked. I love this girl. She is my rock. The Lord must love me, because if he didn't, he would have sent me an awful teenage girl (like some I know), but instead I have Carly. Sometimes I wonder if I really deserve having her as my daughter, considering what an AWFUL teenager I was (sorry Mom and Dad).
Isabelle - ah, Isabelle. Such a sweetheart. Such drama. Such emotion. We are in trouble when this one is a teenager. Belle is our princess, or rather plays princess at every possible opportunity. She is all girl. She doesn't like to clean her room. She has such a sweet spirit, and loves to have her big brother read with her. She is enjoying her piano lessons, and is excited to be baptized this year. She is a little love-bug.
T-R-O-U-B-L-E, aka. Jack. Oh my. Just as Isabelle is all girl, Jack is 100% boy. Bumps, bruises, scars, slivers, dirt and sticks. He growls, he makes car noises, runs, jumps, and plays until he drops. Or until I drop - he may keep going after I am unconscious. He cuddles on his time, and his time only. Sometimes I think he is the devil in disguise, but then I stop and remember that he is a 2-year-old boy. Then I take a chill pill. Literally. I can't wait until he is old enough to be in some type of sport, if only to burn off some of that energy, and so I can have some time to sit down.
I can go on and on about my kids. Yes, I'm bragging. Yes I'm a proud parent. Yes, I love them.