The joys of imperfect parenting
My husband and I are good parents. Regardless of what the latest measure of success might be. To be honest, I am sick to death of those thinly masked braggarts who claim, in the same breath...they only want their kids to be happy...and how proud they are at their latest accomplishment. Which is it? Happiness? Or Success? For a long time I tried to quell that evil green monster inside. At least I thought that's what it was. I would always be annoyed when I'd hear from someone, be it relative or friend, that I hadn't heard from in eons... because they wanted to share their news. Little Joey got into Harvard. Little Prissy is on her way to Julliard. Little Buffy got a perfect 2400 on her SAT's. And Maximillian was offered a 6-figure job with only his Bachelors. Such successful children. How can that have happened? Aren't these the same kids who, as teenagers, swore like sailors, wore nose rings, tattoos in unmentionable places, had DUI's and went missing f...