A fortune from a cookie sits on my drainboard: “Love asks me no questions and gives me endless support.” If the ancient Chinese wisdom of fortune cookies is to be believed, then I am failing miserably at loving my children.

Because I ask questions. Lots of questions. Just from this morning:

- Why did you tell your sister she sucks?
- Why does she always have to come upstairs with you? Why can’t you play upstairs by yourself?
- Why did you grab the last piece of pizza when you already have two on your plate?

These questions will change over the years (Who are you with? When are you coming home? What did you do to your hair?) but I will continue to ask them.

As for the endless support part of the fortune, I would say, define “endless.” Some things I don’t support. Like jumping off the high dive. Drinking Coke, especially before bedtime. Pretending you’re sick to your stomach to get out of Sunday school.

Okay, I was going to try to wind this up with some profound definition of love, which I don’t actually have, but then war broke out in the room where I’m writing. So I’ll just give you an example of how love plays out at my house.

Girl: “You’re a liar! You lied because you said there was no pizza left, and there was! You’re lying because you just want to see me cry!” This is followed by flopping on the floor, crying, coughing and then gagging. “I gotta throw up!” This is followed by spitting up a little bit of mucus into the potty, with much drama and recriminations. Then flopping on the bed in exhaustion.

Boy: “I made you a pallet on the floor. In case you want to lie down there.”

Girl: “That’s okay. I’ll go play upstairs with you.”