My brothers and I were not an easy bunch to deal with. The three of us were very close in age. My brother and I are just 11 months apart (that’s right! Not even a full year!). And brother #2 arrived after a long gap of two years! We never got lonely but my how we played and fought! We would fling toys from our second floor balcony to see how long it took to hit the ground. We suffocated each other with pillows until the victim gave up and sang-“I surrender all”! We played unbelievably elaborate games which almost always ended up in a howling fight.

In short, we were little terrors. How my Mum did it I don’t know. Once we become parents, we often look back at our own parents and see all that they did wrong. All the things we don’t want to repeat as we bring up our own little ones. But I’ll tell you this for my Mom. I have never once heard her complain about her children to anyone.

My Mother brought us kids up single-handedly for the most part and though I’m sure it overwhelmed her at times to have three kids hurricaning through the house she never once put us down before others.

Now, this is not hypocrisy. It’s not “my kids are terrible but people don’t need to know it”. It’s more an attitude of “these are my children, given to me as gifts, and I choose to cherish them.”

And when you think about it, how true it is! Yes, they are gifts. And yet, when we ponder it from our selfish perspectives, a very different picture emerges. They take away from our quiet. They take away from our peace. They take away from our freedom. They take away from the tidiness of our homes. They take away our energy. They take away from our ability to not be on high-alert all the time. Need I go on? It’s been months since I had my quiet time without my little shadow sitting down next to me saying she wants to sing with me too. When I sit to read, there are two voices pleading with me to read it aloud. When I sit down to eat, that’s when they need to go to the bathroom. When I’m stirring something that needs to be stirred continuously or else, that’s when they have a flaming row and come bawling into the kitchen for justice. When I lie down in the night to sleep, just as my aching back hits the oh-so-comforting flatness of the bed, is when I hear the whining for water.

But… even with all this, they are my children. Little sensitive souls that trust me. And I choose not to complain about these precious gifts.

Where’s the scope for sharing then? Don’t we need counsel? Don’t we need to unburden ourselves sometimes? Yes! Yes! Of course, we need counsel and a sympathetic, listening ear does wonders.