We like to talk about our kids needing us and how tough it can be for them to branch out, but I know we need our kids as much as they need us. We need different things; perhaps we have developed the skills to cope more gracefully when the needs are not fulfilled, but we need them nonetheless.

Part of why I love coaching is that personal stories are just as important—perhaps more so—than what the experts say. Experts can study populations and norms and trends, but no one knows your family better than you, and no one knows my family better than me. So, in the spirit of sharing a little wisdom from one person in the know to another, I thought I would write about a couple nuggets I have come by in watching my kids grow.

As I counted up the defenses and justifications in my head, the stark reality hit me square between the eyes. My frustration has become the norm. The undercurrent of Why are you doing that? or Why aren’t you? has become more than just a rough day, a busy week, a “season of transition.” It’s become the way things are around here. And I need to do something about it.

There are always waters running deep in the depths of our children’s hearts and minds. There will be more outburts, more tears, more anger, more joy, seemingly out of nowhere. We can count on it. There will be times when my first thought is: Well that sure was random. But random, isolated—I’m really not so sure they’re as common as they may appear.

As our kids get older it may be harder to elicit honest feedback from them. Ask them anyway. Older children may fear punishment or a scolding; they may doubt the sincerity of our inquiry, our commitment to listen, or that their words will have any impact. Prove them wrong. Giving our kids a voice at the table doesn’t mean they dictate; it means that they matter. 

The real world is all there is when it comes to walking out our days. Real is what we touch and feel, what we breathe and see and know. Real, for my kids, is going to school, learning that second grade requires a little more work and a little less play than first grade, and coming home for dinner and family time. That’s real. That’s what we walk out, and what we talk about.