The other day I was enjoying being with two young children. They were drawing and we chatted while they created rainbows and flowers. One of them was focused on the page and said very little. The other kept up a stream of questions. 

"Do you like it? Do you like this bird? Do you see the cloud? Is it good?"

I affirmed her that it was wonderful, and even though the other child never asked I expressed my appreciation of hers as well.

"But mine is beautiful too, right?" She seemed to fear that one compliment given to someone else meant one less for her. 

It struck me that her hunger for recognition looked like a full time job. The other child was engrossed in the blobs of color, and what happened when she mixed them. My opinion was of no consequence. But the first child seemed less able to enjoy her own picture because of the thirst for me to approve. 

I wished I could somehow release her from the unquenchable need for praise. 

This morning as I was doing chicken chores I heard the low rumble of the trash truck groaning up the road. I hurried to lug the bins to the street, having forgotten to do it the night before. I dragged them into place, and brushed off my hands on my pants. 

"I hope John is grateful," I thought to myself. In my off based allotment of chores, I still put trash in the husband category, even though it more often falls to me and Benjamin. Never mind that John does a slew of the tasks that are easily assigned to women..... food shopping, stove top, vacuuming.

"He should notice my efforts." 

Then I remembered the little girl. Maybe I could take out the trash whether or not he doled out credit.