***From the mind of the mother of 3 children. A post in which I propose and prove the following theory: “help” is - in fact- a form medieval torture for mothers.***
I don’t like “help”. Often times (read: every… time…), help is, actually Not. All. That. Helpful.
It’s not that I want or need to do all the work… make all the effort… I am a HUGE fan of minimal effort, but not a huge fan of “help”.
What I am trying to communicate is: If I have to do the work I want to control the pace, the rhythm, the progress. Progress people! Steady progress!
OR
I want someone else (read: adult) to do all the work. And not just the “start” but also the “finish”, because a “start” without a “finish” is not “ALL”… it is “helping”, and I think I have established I am not a huge fan of “help”.
Note: I write this with great guilt. My kids love to “help”, and this is a hard area in my relationship with my children. Especially when cooking. Especially. I need to let them “help”… because, for me, that is what a good mom does… teaches, nurtures… And I want to be that for them. Of course, not yelling would be a “good mom” thing also.
Baby steps.
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