Before my children landed on this planet, I wondered and dreamed of what they'd become as adults. The older they get, the more I'm convinced that I don't have to think too hard. All I have to do is peek into my mirror.
They are what I am. They are perfect imitators of my strengths and weaknesses. They are Mini-MEs.
I take pictures, they take pictures. I crochet, they crochet. I read my Bible, they read theirs. But they've inherited all my nastiness too. They have their mother's temper, sarcasism and preference for laziness. I've learned to control and work through my yucky tendencies, but they haven't and they eagerly air them at the most inopportune times, especially public places.
Parenting has been easier since I realized many of the daily issues were really my own fault. They were reflecting my impatience and disorganization and tendency to be easily frustrated. So confessing my own faults and dealing with myself has made for a much more quiet and controllable household.
Years ago, my own mother cursed me with "I hope you have kids just like yourself!" and today she laughs at her prophecy fulfilled. Fortunately I have that same hope. That one day my kids will have their own Mini-MEs.