From the Mouths of Babes

So yesterday I'm at the Clotworthy's, and I'm asking Aiden to pick up the game he has strewn all over the living room floor. At first he ignores me. Then he just gives me mournful looks. Finally, he pulls out the biggest weapon (he thinks) in his arsenal: "I feel sick!"

Remembering all my "Scream-Free Parenting" tips, I calmly ask him again. He refuses. Finally, I tell him that if he doesn't start picking up before I count to three, he is losing his noisy, new fire truck that awesome Grandpa John gave him for Christmas this past weekend. He stares me down. I count to three. "Fine." I say. "You've lost your truck. Sorry."

Commence hands-over-eyes, scrunchy face weeping. I am impassive.

Emma, who has watched the whole thing, solemnly looks at me with her enormous brown eyes and says in her deadpan delivery : "You are a good mothuh."

And if a seven-year-old can validate my parenting skills, maybe I should have a little more confidence in them myself. Thanks, Emma. You've been a good "daughter" to practice on.

These sweet babies turned 7 last week. SEVEN! I love them a million-billion.