In the midst of angst and hand-wringing, I sometimes find it helpful to remember that my kids have survived worse. Even more comforting, in a bizarro sort of way, is remembering that I survived MUCH worse, and what’s more, back then—in the Stone Age, you know—no one even though it was much of a big deal.
Clearly I just need to toughen these kids up. Put ’em to work, maybe, or force them to walk to school in the snow. Except we don’t have any snow, and nowadays that would probably be considered child abuse. Heh.
Today I’m over at Off Our Chests, reflecting on some differences between my childhood and theirs, and how it either means everything is going to work out okay, or maybe just that they should get off my lawn. Either way. Come on over and weigh in.