When we became parents, one of our priorities was to raise empathetic children.
Man, have we succeeded.
Or maybe they were just born with big hearts. Either way, I'm very proud of them.
In the last couple of weeks, my husband has commented quite a few times that they are both just like me. I always scoff. But he may be right.
My daughter can be just a tiny bit of a drama queen. I'd normally never admit it, but...yeah, okay. I can lay on the drama too, if I think it makes for a good story. So, check!
My son is extremely imaginative. He "tells stories" constantly. So much so, that you never know when to respond to him. "He's going to be a writer," I tell my husband. And he says that he gets it from me. That someday there may be a Little Tuna Boy blog. Let's hope he doesn't follow in my footsteps. But, overactive imagination? Yeah. Check.
She can be lazy. Check.
He can be stubborn. And obstinate. Check. Check.
But they are the most caring children I have ever met, and I say they get that from their father. And he says, "Bullshit. They get that from you."
My daughter is very concerned that Uncle Patrick doesn't have a bed to sleep on. She's excited about his new apartment, but is concerned that he won't get his mail. She worries that he works too late at night. And she's upset that he has to walk home on dark streets. That girl thinks too much.
Hmmm, I wonder where she gets that from?
I had no idea how concerned I was for my friends, or how it was affecting my mood, until I reread some of my blog. And now that things are working out so well for my friends, both Patrick and CB and even some other friends I don't blog about, I'm feeling the relief right down to my bones. My friends are great, deserving people.
Now I feel like I'm getting my shit together too.
So, my kid's caring and concerned and dramatic and sensitive and a worrier.
I hate to admit it, but...
Check. Check. Check. Check. And check.