The nine-year-old upstairs could be heard downstairs, “Mom! Dad’s trying to control me!”
It wasn’t my most favorite thing to hear on Sunday morning. I had sent her upstairs to get something while I was helping her sister.
When she came back down, we had a little chat:
“Let me ask you something. When I do things that your mom asks, do you think I’m doing it because she’s controlling me?”
“Kinda.” Hey, at least she was honest…
“No. I do things she asks me to do because I love her. That’s why we do things for each other around here.“

