Loud and clear.
They say that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. Either that or imitation exposes our every flaw.
"No, Natalie! GO AWAY!"
I froze and a chill went through my heart when I heard Grace's forceful command to her sister this morning. The tone was worse than the words themselves. It was annoyed, dismissive, as though Grace intended to hurt Natalie's feelings to deter her from being close by.
The worst part was that I know exactly where she learned it. There is no day care, no TV's in our house to blame when this happens. I had been putting Natalie down for a nap with orders for Grace to leave us alone so that Natalie could get to sleep. I turned on the digital videos we have of Grace as a baby on the computer and told her not to come into Natalie's room.
When she came in, asking for something or other that wasn't a) and emergency or b) helping put Natalie to sleep, and after my whispered deterrents hadn't worked, I said in an annoyed, dismissive voice, "Go AWAY, Grace." It worked.
Too well, apparently.
But before we beat ourselves up over this moment of heartbreak, a counter example: two days ago while we were on our evening walk, I told Grace she was a sweetie. "And," I continued, "Natalie, you're a sweetie, too."
As I put the girls in their car seats later this morning, I heard Grace's voice right as I closed Natalie's door: "Natalie, you're a sweetie!"
Flattering or not, our children reflect us. Perhaps children are one of God's ways of exposing our best and worst to ourselves in hopes we can capitalize on the good and address the bad. Today, I learned both lessons loud and clear.
"No, Natalie! GO AWAY!"
I froze and a chill went through my heart when I heard Grace's forceful command to her sister this morning. The tone was worse than the words themselves. It was annoyed, dismissive, as though Grace intended to hurt Natalie's feelings to deter her from being close by.
The worst part was that I know exactly where she learned it. There is no day care, no TV's in our house to blame when this happens. I had been putting Natalie down for a nap with orders for Grace to leave us alone so that Natalie could get to sleep. I turned on the digital videos we have of Grace as a baby on the computer and told her not to come into Natalie's room.
When she came in, asking for something or other that wasn't a) and emergency or b) helping put Natalie to sleep, and after my whispered deterrents hadn't worked, I said in an annoyed, dismissive voice, "Go AWAY, Grace." It worked.
Too well, apparently.
But before we beat ourselves up over this moment of heartbreak, a counter example: two days ago while we were on our evening walk, I told Grace she was a sweetie. "And," I continued, "Natalie, you're a sweetie, too."
As I put the girls in their car seats later this morning, I heard Grace's voice right as I closed Natalie's door: "Natalie, you're a sweetie!"
Flattering or not, our children reflect us. Perhaps children are one of God's ways of exposing our best and worst to ourselves in hopes we can capitalize on the good and address the bad. Today, I learned both lessons loud and clear.
posted by Sarah at 8:30 AM
1 Comments:
Sadly, I know I used my power as the eldest against you and Peter in this way. I remember saying (and can't believe I'm about to admit this) "If you don't do X I won't ever be your friend anymore." Eeww - do we really wield power over the less powerful at even such a young age? The good part being that we eventually grew out of that way of relating to each other (for the most part!). I know from experience that Natalie will be one of Grace's closest souls and that Grace will love her with all her heart.
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