My problem-solving brother told me a while back, probably after observing an all too common, frenzied meltdown in our home, that as soon as Isabelle starts doing things on her own, my life will be much easier. Well, duh! That made sense. Turn my sweetheart Isabelle into my little helper and my load will be considerably lighter.
So as Isabelle reaches certain milestones, I teach her how to do the same for her sisters. For example, learning to brush her teeth before bed without our help. (Bedtime at our house is crazy. Stressed. That might be a good word to describe Christian and me at bedtime. I really don’t understand it. How is it that my girls are plum shocked when I tell them it is bath time? Really? Same time, same place, every night! Sorry, back to my example.) Isabelle began turning on the sink, putting the paste on the brush, grabbing the towel from the rack, etc. on her own, didn’t even need me in the room. So what did I do? I starting making, sorry, asking Isabelle to do the same for her sisters. Of course, she didn’t mind. She loves the responsibility. See Matthew, you do know a thing or two about child-rearing.
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