A Great Helper

That's what my nine-year-old told me I was tonight as he hauled the upstairs bathroom laundry down the stairs and I followed behind him, bathroom towels in arms.  It's his week to bring down the Boys and Upstairs Bathroom laundry on Monday night and again tonight.
But his chore assignment this week is beside the point.
The point is that he is thankful for little things and recognizes when others do something nice for him, and is quick to give praise.
I didn't grow up that way.
That's not to say my parents were overbearing ogres that never expressed any emotion.  I knew my parents loved me and since I am the oldest of twelve, there were many household responsibilities that fell on me when my parents were not home.  (In hindsight, they were gone nearly every Saturday....no doubt to restore sanity to my poor mother.  I don't blame her one bit for that, do you?)  And I dutifully passed the buck on some of them to my younger siblings.  My sister Monique got stuck with the cooking.  But I digress.
However, my parents rarely said thank you for whatever I or my siblings had done, rarely praised us for a job well done.  It was just expected and that was that.  But I craved their praise, to know that they appreciated my efforts, to hear that I had done what they needed me to.  I think I still do in a way.  (I'm pretty sure I won't need therapy for it, though.)
But praise and gratitude is something that I am raising my children with.  I want them to hear that I appreciate when they help me the first time I ask, when they do something extra to help lighten my load.  They have picked up on that habit and regularly express thanks to each other when assistance is given.   I praise my children when they deserve it, but I also scold when they let me down, and I don't praise mediocrity.

When I'm gone from this existence, I want my children to hear my praises and thanks in their hearts.  And I hope they pass it down to their children as a legacy of love.