Training

I'm sure we are in training at our house, but I'm not always sure who's training whom.  Am I training my kids?  Or are they training me?  The youngest has been training me for years.  She cries enough, I react.  She's the loudest by far, so she gets more just because I'm tired of listening to it.  I've definitely been trained well.  But, and there's always that but, aren't I supposed to be training her?  To deal with that anger, to let go of that frustration.  Why should she get so frustrated?  I've written it off for years now, she came out yelling, literally out of the womb and with her first breath - screaming.  One nurse came in and said she heard we had a screamer in the room.  She continued to scream - nightly as I put the others to bed, in the store, if I delivered her applesauce in a green bowl instead of a pink one.  Some days I've just put my head down and wondered why she hates life so much.  I've been in tears thinking that she'll always find this world a terrible place.  Overly dramatic, maybe, but I've spent much of the past few years being yelled at.  So, how do I train her?  She's got a lot of lessons to learn.  But they are not bad lessons.  They are the lessons of life - that things aren't so bad, that her actions hurt other people, that a little bit of work brings joy.  I guess some of the lessons I still have to learn myself.  Like the joy of housework.  I often see how my hatred of being "just a housewife" has colored my rearing of my children.  I get in a bad mood because I've just spent an hour scrubbing the shower, and that bad mood spills over to everything else.  Then I often let them off the hook, thinking that because I hate it, how can I expect anything else from them.  I guess I must train myself better before I can do a positive job of training them.