One of my greatest joys in life is parenting. I love my sons. I love working with my wife to raise our boys. But I’ve been realizing that I have unrealistic expectations of what good parenting is.
Lately I’ve noticed an underlying sense of anger. Little things get me all riled up inside, like my son pulling out the dishes for the fifth time of the day or repeatedly emptying the laundry basket. I wasn’t sure where the frustration was coming from, but it was killing me.
The other day I was reflecting on this issue, knowing something had to change but not sure what to do, or even what the problem was. Then I had a thought and I think it came from God: I have unrealistic expectations of what parenting is like. And those expectations are killing me.
