I find myself getting frustrated with our two boys more frequently than I’d like. We have a 3 year old and an 18 month old. I guess I expect them to be these perfectly behaved, miniature adults—soft-spoken and thoughtful at all times—the kind that I imagine “good” parents raise. I get frustrated with them and then get frustrated with myself for not being a better parent—for not being able to do a better job.
Then I read a story about someone who is driving their 5 year old two hours to have cancer treatments, and everything comes into perspective. I can’t image how terrifying that must be, and I realize that our little behavior and discipline struggles are nothing—certainly nothing that every single other parent on the planet doesn’t have to deal with.
It’s not that the small things aren’t important. They are. It’s just that the small things aren’t the big things. Sometimes you have to take a step back and remember that.