Proud Of Daughter's Accomplishments Quotes

To the accomplishment-oriented mother, what you achieve in life is paramount. Success depends on what you do, not who you are. She expects you to perform at the highest possible level. This mom is very proud of her children’s good grades, tournament wins, admission into the right college, and graduation with the pertinent degrees. She loves to brag about them too. But if you do not become what your accomplishment-oriented mother thinks you should, and accomplish what she thinks is important, she is deeply embarrassed, and may even respond with a rampage of fury and rage. A confusing dynamic is at play here. Often, while the daughter is trying to achieve a given goal, the mother is not supportive because it takes away from her and the time the daughter has to spend on her. Yet if the daughter achieves what she set out to do, the mother beams with pride at the awards banquet or performance. What a mixed message. The daughter learns not to expect much support unless she becomes a great hit, which sets her up for low self-esteem and an accomplishment-oriented lifestyle.

Believe in yourself, my dear daughter, and know that you have the strength, courage, and determination to accomplish anything you set your mind to. Don't let anyone else define your worth, and always keep chasing your dreams. I am so proud of you!

Sergeant Major Reinhold von Rumpel is forty-one years old, not so old that he cannot be promoted. He has moist red lips; pale, almost translucent cheeks like fillets of raw sole; and an instinct for correctness that rarely fails him. He has a wife who suffers his absences without complaint, and who arranges porcelain kittens by color, lightest to darkest, on two different shelves in their drawing room in Stuttgart. He also has two daughters whom he has not seen in nine months. The eldest, Veronika, is deeply earnest. Her letters to him include phrases like sacred resolve, proud accomplishments, and unparalleled in history.

father. To Britt Arthurs, If you’re reading this, then Kay and the others have successfully found you. I regret that I cannot come with them, for more than anything I would like to be there for you. I would love to see what you do and the new goals you accomplish! But I am needed here, in this time. And as much as I would wish it, my place is not with you in the future. But that does not change how proud I am of you, or how much I love you. Camelot is strong, and Britain is great because of your court and because of you. I know you can do it again, in your time. Though it is a different situation, I know you will continue to do many great things, and you will change the world for the better. So please, Britt. Remember me, and know that I love you, and I will always think of you with a parent’s pride and joy. You will ever be my Britt, my daughter, and my King. With all my love, Your father It took Britt several minutes before she could stop crying.

Lucas?” The bewilderment in her gaze when he lifted away from her tore at his heart. “Boots off, Evie. I have an idea. Trust me.” Three complete sentences, one declarative, two imperative. Quite an accomplishment when a man’s cock was rioting in his breeches. He tugged her up by one arm and knelt to pull off her boots. While she sat there looking puzzled and a trifle disgruntled, he untied her stock and eased her jacket from her shoulders, then started unbuttoning her shirt. “Will I like this idea?” “You will like it.” “Does it involve my undressing you as well?” He sat back on his heels, proud of her. “It can.” And then a cloud passed before the sun in her gaze. “Lucas, there must be a limit—” Ah, common sense was nipping at her heels too. He put one finger on her lips. “There must. Trust me to see to it. I promise you’re safe with me, Eve.” She didn’t hesitate for even an instant. She reached out and started unknotting his cravat. Before Deene could take three steadying breaths, his shirt was open and Eve was drawing a single, incendiary finger down the length of his sternum. “Back to my idea, Eve…” Her lips quirked up. “I liked it better when you were kissing me, not just spouting ideas.” Eve,

I leaned over to my daughter. “All those years I tried to teach you to cook have led up to this moment,” I said teasingly. The moment the words popped out of my mouth, I cringed, realizing she might take my comment as an insult. Sure, as a mom, I wanted to teach her to be a good cook like me, but I was proud of her accomplishments and didn’t care what she chose not to do. With the tension between us lately, especially after my lecture two nights ago, I braced myself for the chilled look she’d cut me with. “I’m already an expert, Mom,” she threw back at me. “I can dial the pizza delivery phone number with my eyes closed. It’s perfect every time.” Everyone burst into laughter, and relief shot through me at her easy tone. Oh, how I wished we’d be able to relax with each other more often. I felt as if every word needed to be carefully analyzed to make sure I wasn’t hurting her feelings. When had it begun to fall apart on us? When Allegra began going to school? Or had the broken cracks always been there, slowly eroding through the years because we never tried to repair them?

If Mama had lived, ... I hope she would have supported and approved of her daughter’s ambitions to accomplish something in this life. She taught me to read when I was five years old. If she knew what I was doing now, if she knew that I had been accepted at the university—the university , Papa—don’t you think she would have been just a little bit proud?

It was my father and I that were inseparable. His darling girl; that's what he called me. He understood me- his bright, easily bored, passionate, underdog-defending, in-need-of-large-doses-of-physical-activity-and-changes-of-scenery daughter. And more important than understanding me, he liked me. He was most proud when I took the road less traveled by. It wouldn't be exaggerating to say I lived for the look of delight and surprise in his eyes when I accomplished something out of the ordinary. Beating him at chess. Reading the unabridged version of Anna Karenina when I was ten. Starting a campfire with nothing but a flint and a knife. But now it seemed our father and daughter skins were growing too small. I still craved his attention and approval, but he gave it more sparingly. Our long, rambling conversations about everything and anything- the speed of light, the Cuban missile crisis, how many minutes on each side to grill a perfect medium-rare steak- had petered out, replaced with the most quotidian of inquiries: Is Gunsmoke on tonight? Is it supposed to snow tomorrow? When's the last time the grass was cut?

Vera Vladimirovna was, as we have seen, very proud of her daughter's successful upbringing, especially perhaps because it had been accomplished not without difficulty, because it took time and skill to destroy in her soul its innate thirst for delight and enthusiasm.