Part of being perfect

Parents are supposed to be perfect. And part of that perfection is never ever giving up striving to get all of the chicks successfully out of the nest. I’ve been prepping my midgets since they were very young; I’ve told them I expect them to get an undergrad degree/trade certification/something post-secondary, but they should also follow their hearts and find their passion in life. Are these directives mutually exclusive? I don’t know anymore.

I’m at a stage where I’m still teaching my midgets to help out around the house, so I’m pretttttty far from having adults in my midst. I doubt they will think of doing chores on their own here for a few more years, but at least they don’t whine when I ask them to do something away from a beloved screen. The midgets have demonstrated they are growing up. We are all making progress. I’m learning to let go a little bit and they are learning to take proper control of themselves a little bit.

Last night all 4 of us cleaned the basement apartment to prepare for a guest checking in through Airbnb this afternoon. I can’t tell you what that help means to me, to have 4 pairs of hands using windex and paper towels, sweeping, dusting, and taking out the garbage. To me this is a watershed moment; I can rely on my midgets for help. This is not just a case of them helping, it’s also me asking for and then accepting that help (even if they do not complete a task the way I would do it). This concept is similar to the one I learned in a linguistics course many years ago: for effective communication there must be a speaker and an active listener. Otherwise, communication cannot take place. It has taken 13 years for my young family to get to this point, but we are, in fact, here.

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