Guess who is the only child to just come in every day and empty her lunchbox out without direction? Rory. Guess who remembers to do her morning chore without being asked? Rory. Guess who jumped up and got the crayons when I reminded them that Mother’s Day boxes were being mailed tomorrow? Rory.

She is so alert to any opportunity to please. Not just me, either. Wasn’t I so nice, Wyatt, she asks if she gets him a cup for his milk. Am I so cute, Lily, she asks if Lily declares Wyatt a cutie (usually after dressing him in her clothes). I can always count on combing her hair without hearing a complaint. If I need help carryi g the groceries in, there she is.

Now, she also wants this to be fair. I asked her, Sam and Wyatt to empty the dishwasher this weekend, and only Rory asked why Lily didn’t have to do it. (Because Lily was going to help sort laundry.) But generally, she is so, so ready to help and get praise. And I have some mixed feelings about this.

Who wouldn’t love that she does her chores without being asked? (Not always without complaining.) But who wouldn’t worry that she’s afraid I am not loving her if I’m not telling her what a good job she’s done?

Rory gets to need a little extra love. I try to be on hand to give it. She gets the extra help with her clothes, the tiniest bit more patience in the morning when she pretends she can’t find the things she needs to put in her backpack, the extra time searching fornher favorite stuffy. But then, given those things, she seizes on them. Extra help every time, a lost stuffy every night, missing boots every single morning. She just wants everything she can soak up. I don’t want to reinforce her idea that if she doesn’t please me, there’s no love. I don’t want her to always feel that those who love her need to prove their love. But hey, I want to prove my love. It’s a hard balance to strike. I’m