Your kids probably know how tough they are on you. Even if they don’t say it, of course, they notice on some level how tired you are. How stressed you are. How much they ask of you. As we said before, they can also hear you when you say stuff to this effect—to a friend on the phone, to your spouse when you think they’re asleep, when you mutter under your breath.

But do they also know what joy you bring them? How much better they make your life?

Because they should. They have to.

In Marylin Robinson’s Gilead, John Ames, a Congregationalist minister, writes a letter to his young son, Robbie.

You see how it is godlike to love the being of someone. Your existence is a delight to us. I hope you never have to long for a child as I did, but oh, what a splendid thing it has been that you came finally, and what a blessing to enjoy you now for almost seven years.

Do your kids have any sense of this? Because they deserve to. Make sure they know—not just how much you do for them, but how much they mean to you. Because when the daily routines blur and the struggles fade—when the busyness of life recedes into memory—what endures is the love, the joy, and the precious gift of having had each other.