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I was sweeping my house today. Since it is not the most mind-bending of tasks I got to thinking. I started thinking about me as a parent and how I got to be here. OK. I know HOW I got to be a parent, but the kind of parent that I am.
Then I started wondering what makes any of us the kind of parents that we are. When I am out with my friends who are also parents we talk about parenty stuff. It seems that long runs lend themselves to certain parenting confessions.
Like, yeah, I let my kid sleep in my bed. I gave my kids cereal for dinner last night. My kids know SpongeBob’s middle name. Then I think about how my parents parented. I did not watch TV while eating -- ever.
OK, except for the one time when dinner started late and I was going to miss the Donny and Marie Show and I started crying, then parents let me watch. But I remember them being dumbfounded by my tears. I don’t even remember what my parent’s bedroom looked like. And I ate everything on my plate even if it meant swallowing it whole with a big gulp of milk.
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