My husband and I have admittedly made a lot of mistakes as parents, but always with the best of intentions. And the single biggest mistake we've made? We have tried to make our children happy.
In the name of making them happy, we have pretended that their scribbles were art. They're still scribbling. Lego instructions got you down? Sure, one day when you're broke and you buy everything at Ikea, yes, you will need to follow instructions. But today? Today you're a free-spirited kid who is learning to follow his own instructions. Don't like broccoli, eh? Well, we didn't either as kids, so do what we did: don't eat it.
Every bad behavior had a good excuse: "You're just tired, sweetie. You need a snack, honey. You forgot your words, darling - you'll remember next time." We believed that good manners would come in time, that their squabbling would fade away, their interests would emerge, certain responsibilities would be assumed. We just had to wait for them to grow older; we just had to model loving behavior. All would be well.
Now, with our eldest only weeks away from his 11th birthday and our youngest already in Kindergarten, we're seeing the fruits of our labors: a bunch of sour grapes.
This isn't how it was supposed to turn out.
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