Teaching values is a full contact sport

In my line of work, I see all kinds of kids, all kinds of parents, and all kinds of families. I see fully involved parents (working, single, privileged and disadvantaged) with well-rounded kids. There are also plenty of kids who struggle in the "building good character" department. And that can be for a number of reasons.

I've been teaching for more than 10 years. My first year, I wore myself out planning perfect lessons late into the night...lessons that rarely turned out the way I expected. I struggled to survive and made few personal connections with my students. It concerned me that the content just wasn't being covered because we never seemed to get anywhere.

Basically, I was playing football as if it were tennis...or long-distance running. Any profession that involves kids, including parenting - because let's face it...it's probably the hardest job on the planet, has to be handled like a full-contact team sport. I'm not saying we should literally be tackling each other...but follow my metaphor for a bit.

In a team sport, there's a coach or a captain and each of the remaining players has a particular function. Everyone has to do his or her part, or the team will fail. We've all seen those players who seem to think they are playing the game by themselves. The MVP's who become the face of the team. It flies in the face of what team sports are about.

Adults who work with kids (or raise them) are the coaches and captains, and the kids are the players. Some players are naturally good. Others take more one-on-one. Some are good leaders and will become captains or coaches themselves. Still others are much better at taking direction and running with it; they are cooperative and know how to succeed as a unit. Some need to be taken down a few notches as their egos grow, and a few need to built up and supported until they find their own abilities.

Our teams benefit from all types of coaches and all types of players. Some are better paired than others, but no matter what our style as parents, as long as we are trying, we are doing the right thing.

Unlike a football team, however, we can't trade our players, and not all of us have a fantasy team. We have to make the team we have the best one we can. We take them as they are (and ourselves), and we turn them (and us) into the best damn team we can.

History is full of really hard working coaches with heart and determination. Inspirational movies are made about them all the time. And if you've seen any of them, it's hard not to see that creating a successful team is less about playbooks and rules and in-born talent, than it is about trust, connection, and never giving up.

Sort of like families.

And how we train our little players is up to us. We have to mold our coaching style to their needs (even if it means some intense soul-searching on our parts). Some kids need tough coaches. Other kids need patience and a lot of time. Some need a lot of praise. Other need to be left to struggle it out on their own.

And when it comes to values, character building...well, we teach those in the same way we teach anything else. Character is a skill, like any other. We aren't born knowing right from wrong, how to be empathetic, how to work with others. Without training, I believe we'd, like animals, do whatever we had to survive. We'd lie, cheat, and steal our way to a full belly and a comfortable home.

We have to be taught why we should be good. We need to see what good looks like, not just be told. We have to practice it a million times and see success with it to really understand why it's better than taking the easier way.

And that's where we, as coaches, tend to go wrong. We talk a lot. We expect the team to listen. We might even show them our brilliantly drawn out plays. We might tell them loads of stories about how we learned to do it. But, we don't spend as much time just having them run the plays over and over and over and over.

We're much better at it when our "players" are young, especially before they can really talk. We play charades and "show" them everything. And then, when they become verbal, we starting talking at them incessantly, but we often stop "showing" them. Or we might assume that now they can speak, they understand our words. But we would be mistaken.

If it were that easy, we could just sit our kids in front of a video about sharing and afterwards they would miraculously just start sharing, willingly.

But, it doesn't work that way.

Today, my little player wants to sit on his computer and play video games all day. I he were left to his own devices, that's just what he'd do. I could tell him not to, and just sit here typing away. He'd stop, because he has no choice, but he wouldn't be internalizing the lesson of why he shouldn't spend his whole day that way.

It's my job to physically show him and let him practice it. We can go on a walk or a bike ride, and he feels better, more energized. We can make muffins, learning about fractions and following recipes. Or he can head outside and play with his dogs, climbing trees and playing with sticks and frogs. Anything that gets him away from the computer and shows him that other things are just as fun...or more so...that's how he will learn why he shouldn't be on the computer all day. Me just telling him to stop makes me the bad guy...the killer of fun. The rigid authority figure who just doesn't understand.

I can't just say stop, and assume the lesson will be learned. I have to say go to something else, and then go with him.

It's a lot of work, yes. It's takes patience, which is in short supply in this family. And it takes full contact. Hands-on activity.

(Almost) All My Son Needs to Know Can Be Learned from His Dogs (and Cats)

We own a zoo.

Not literally. But we have two dogs, three cats, and three tiny little catfish that are quite likely going to live forever.

I realize that not everyone has the space, the time, or the desire to rescue that many furry lives and allow them to "decorate" their home to fit their own tastes. I put up with fur...everywhere, scratches on the table tops, stains, well-"loved" furniture. I trip over dog toys and have unattractive cat scratchers all over the house. 

When I leave town, I have to find a pet sitter. During the day, I have to have someone come and let the puppies out. It can be a huge pain the butt. 

And it can be expensive. Healthy foods (especially for one very finicky feline who, for awhile, was on a grain-free diet), vet visits, toys, crates, kennels, fences, collars, tags, microchips, grooming...Yes, I know...it's a huge commitment. 

But honestly, I'm not sure there's a better way to teach a child all of the things that owning a pet, especially a dog or a cat, can:

1) Unconditional Love, Empathy, Patience, and Kindness:

There is little a child can do wrong that a dog won't forgive...if a bond has been formed between them. When we first brought our son home from the hospital, we placed his car seat in the middle of the living room and let each of our two dogs "inspect" him, one at a time. The first dog took one sniff and high-tailed it to the corner, unimpressed, nose forever out of joint (there would be no bond formed there). But, Kira, the husky, the one we thought would have the jealousy issues, smelled and smelled and then lay down beside him. She had already decided to keep him. 

Over the first few years, she put up with him pulling her fur, crawling on her, tugging at her, hitting her with his toys, chasing her...you name it. She seemed to get it: he was a pup, and she was willing to accept him as such. As they both got older, her patience grew thinner. But she taught him a lot about empathy and responsibility. He received many the talking to for treating her poorly or unfairly. He had to apologize to her and give her hugs to show he was sorry. And she forgave him. Every time. Mostly.

Their relationship became much like that of siblings. They "fought" from time to time ("Mom...she's biting me for no reason!"...yeah, right...), and there were days they had to be sent to opposite corners. But ultimately, they were tight, and she'll always be his first animal companion and animal teacher.

2) Dealing with Loss and Grief:

We've lost several pets during our son's short life. Three cats have just "disappeared" (we live in the woods and have a coyote problem), and one dog was hit by a car (none of us actually saw her before we buried her...it would have been a terrible last image of her). 

Those losses were surreal for him. He never saw them, so the potential for their return was still possible in his mind. After watching "Frankenweenie" he was convinced we could dig Emma up and reanimate her. Thankfully, he didn't try to follow up on that.

When Kira, the husky, recently died (peacefully at home), my husband kept her in the house until my son and I got home. Believe me, we talked quite a bit about what would be best for him. Would seeing her body freak him out or scare him? Or would it show him death in as understandable a way as possible for a child? We opted to be as honest and open about it as we could. We let him pet her. We let him see us cry. He got to pet her and hug her goodbye. And he knew she was in the garden nearby...next to her friend Emma.

Later, when he had bad dreams or cried because he missed her, we had something real to refer to. He had an image. He knew she was really not coming back. There was closure. It wasn't like flushing a fish down the toilet...it was serious grief over the loss of a hugely important being in his life. Not a fun lesson to learn, but surely an unavoidable one.

3) Not Taking Advantage of Those Who Are Weaker Than You:

The relationships can be just as strong between kids and cats (surprisingly). Not too long ago, we brought home a brand new kitten. He was tiny, and fragile, and my son had to learn to be careful and gentle. He had to learn to respect the kitten's sleep, how to hold him, how to play with him. And for some reason, though he drags the cat around everywhere and pesters him incessantly, the cat loves him more than anyone else in the house. It's confusing to all of us...but it goes to show that the love of an animal knows no bounds. 

Now that we have two new young canines, we're back to learning how to treat baby animals...with patience, and thoughtfulness. Our son is continuing to learn how to empathize with and care for something other than himself who depends on him and loves him no matter what. And in return for his sometimes messy and failed attempts at being a good pet owner, he has earned the undying loyalty of at least one of our new pups.

4) Responsibility and Reliability:

We've given our son the job of feeding the animals. Partially, so they learn to respect him because they need him, but also, so he learns to be responsible to something that depends on him completely. Every morning and every night, he has to think about the needs of someone other than himself. He has to fulfill those needs, even when he's cranky, or tired, or doesn't want to. Sometimes, there isn't a choice. Sometimes we just have to suck it up and fulfill our obligations. Period.

5) Building Trust and Earning Affection:

Our newest addition came with a few neuroses. And she distrusts the boy. She shies away and doesn't want to go outside with him. Quite honestly, he hasn't been that welcoming. I'm pretty sure he likes his puppy more than mommy's puppy (let's face it...animals make their own decisions about us, too, and bond with whomever they want...or not). Now he's learning to build her trust, how to encourage her, how to be patient with her fears, how to accept the fact that she doesn't like him best. He's going to have to work a lot harder for her love. If he thinks it's worth it, he'll do whatever it takes. And eventually, she'll come around. Not all relationships start well or come easily. Sometimes one has to repair and patch and make do. But even though the bond might be a bit rough around the edges, it will be that much more special for all the work that it took. Maybe she's just playing hard to get.

6) How to Lead with Confidence, Consistency, and Fairness:

Our dogs are usually hard-headed, stubborn breeds. The kinds of dogs that need firm and consistent guidance. We spend at least as much time training our son how to train the dogs as we do actually training the dogs. He has to learn not to let them walk all over him, how to control them on a leash, how to make them follow commands. Basically, he has to assert his place in the pack. It takes calm strength, and the ability to reward and correct behavior quickly and fairly. 

He fails at this on a regular basis, to be honest. He loses his patience, pulls too hard on their leashes, plays too rough, gets mad and jealous when they choose each other over him. He plays favorites and intentionally leaves out the newest dog (two's company, three's a crowd?).

But these actions provide opportunities to correct that behavior and show how he should treat them. It's a learning process...one with natural consequences and rewards - fear, nervousness, and unwillingness to follow or undying loyalty of a type no human could replicate. 

Sure these are values he could learn in other ways. With siblings if he had any. With friends at school. With other family members. I'm not saying that if you can't provide your child with a pet you're a bad parent who should be strung up and judged. No, no. I get it that some children are allergic, some of us have schedules too busy to incorporate a dog or cat responsibly. The landlord says no, or it's cost-prohibitive. Maybe you just don't like animals. They are messy and they do ruin stuff. A lot. Obviously, a child can be raised well without animals. 

My argument is this...if it's possible...children gain a lot from animal relationships that they don't from human relationships. They don't feel judged, they don't feel pressured. They know they are accepted, no matter what.  Even when the whole world seems to be against them.

My son, standing in the corner, with the ever-present companionship of his dog, who doesn't know he did a thing a wrong and wonders why on earth the boy is facing the wall and not playing with him. But he patiently waits at his feet.

I have this terrible picture in my head of him heading off to college, leaving one very depressed cat and one very depressed dog behind. The companionship of animals is like no other. It changes us. It molds us. And hopefully, it will make him a better human...one who loves, empathizes, shows patience and kindness, is responsible and dependable, knows how to build and keep trust, and can lead confidently and successfully.

Getting a child a dog or cat isn't just buying him a pet. It's providing him a one-of-a-kind, hands-on education about relationships and what it takes to sustain them and nurture them.

Shifting perspective and nurturing reality

This week's literary fortune comes from Patti Digh's Life is a Verb.

There are certain books that draw us in to an ongoing and interactive relationship. Books that we cannot let go and that we go back to time and again. For me, Patti Digh's Life is a Verb is one of those. It's a beautiful book. for one; but it's also a reminder for me, every summer, to be a participant in my life rather than a spectator, which can happen, especially when I become tired and grow discontented. When I look around at the messy yard that needs a fence and a good landscape artist which I can't afford, the floor that incessantly needs swept, the unmade beds, and the sink full of dishes, it's easy to dream of a different life.

For me, it's always good to take stock and find a more positive perspective. That messy yard is surrounded by towering cedars and smells of wind and earth. The floor that cries out to be vacuumed is covered in fur from pets that bring me joy, feet that belong to the people I love, and dirt from the path that leads into a home that contains laughter and happiness. The unmade beds are comfortable, inviting places where dreams are had and books are read. And the sink full of dishes exists because we are not hungry.

A good "perspective shifting" exercise is listing all the things that make us nuts, all the things we wish we could change, and then re-writing them as positives (as evidenced above). It's a powerful way to intentionally accept our lives as they are, in spite of (maybe even because of) the imperfections. This is something I call "nurturing reality". Often, we are told to nurture our dreams, but in doing so, we run the risk of being disappointed with what we already have. Nurturing reality is a way to take care of what already exists and embrace our dreams through that lens.

I think it's okay to be unsatisfied sometimes. It pushes us to improve. But it's always good to remember that we are what we are, we live where we live, and there is happiness to be cultivated there, no matter where "there" is. It's the old "bloom where you're planted" adage. Whether one believes in destiny or fate, or prescribes to the idea that we are the captains of our own ships, there is no denying that today has offered us a certain existence. We can choose to be disappointed with it or see it for what it is...a gift.

Yesterday, we went on a walk...the whole family. My son, who does not prescribe to the "walk forward with purpose and a destination in mind" way of life, lagged behind as usual, skipping and meandering at a snail's pace. At one point, I turned around to encourage him to catch up. He ran toward me, dragging the dirt-encrusted roots of a fistful of wild daisies. He handed them to me with a grin; he knows they are my favorite. So I carried them, dirt and all, back to the house, cut the ends, and stuck them in a jar. They are the perfect reminder that life, in all it simple imperfection, must be savored.

Dealing with a child's failure as opportunity

My son does well in school. We expect it. As an educator myself, I've done everything I can to prepare him for the requirements of school and set him up to be successful and responsible for his own learning. Lucky for me, he's a natural "learner." He likes school. He likes his teachers. And he does well enough socially (he's a bit on the young side and an only child, so he struggles from time to time in that arena). Plus, he's unbelievably kind and accepting of other kids, which makes him easy to take advantage of (something we are working on). 

In elementary school, there are daily assignments, quizzes, tests, math timings (like the one above), recess (his favorite thing, of course), art projects, field trips (not as many as he'd like), and fun days that the class earns through good behavior. The kids get awards and recognition, fair treatment for transgressions. All in all, he's happy there, and I'm happy that he's happy. He's moved right along this year, even excelled in certain areas...mainly reading and math. That's why, on Monday, when he brought me his math timing (which earned a 10/21...the worst he's done all year - his last "not so great" score was 17/21), my eyebrows raised and my brow furrowed. Now, these timings don't mean much. It's not like he'll fail first grade if he doesn't pass it. But, I was surprised. Actually, I'll admit it - I was downright shocked. Maybe I shouldn't care so much, but my jaw dropped, and the overbearing parent in me was about to say, "What the hell happened here? We're you spacing off? Daydreaming? Drawing pictures on the desk?" But the objective teacher in me looked at his paper and saw an opportunity.

"What happened here?" I said, in a soft concerned voice.

"I don't know..." he responded. 

"You know this stuff. You've done it on homework a hundred times. Were you tired or confused?"

"I just can't do it." His bottom lip began to quiver and his eyes filled with tears.

"Buddy, you know how I feel about the word can't. It's a dirty word in this house."

"But I just couldn't figure these out. I did my best."

So I looked carefully at his paper. It wasn't just that he'd not been "fast enough" (I get the whole concept of math fluency with basic facts), he'd actually gotten 3 of them wrong. So I asked him about the ones he got wrong, just to prove that he knew how to do it. I figured it must just be the stress of the timer that had gotten him. 

"What's 9-7?" I said, with a look on my face that said 'come on, you know this'.

He gave me a hopeful and questioning look as he answered, "4?"

My mind began to reel? Seriously? He excelled on the subtraction unit earlier in the year. He did well on the assessment at the end of the unit. Where did all his knowledge go?  As a teacher, I had to consider this, because I see it all the time as younger kids develop. All of the sudden, a student who has done typically well, hits a wall, or falls backwards a few steps. The parents freak out, wonder if they need a tutor, wonder if their child has been hit in the head and unknowingly contracted a concussion. 

I'm not a doctor, so I can't give a scientific explanation, but developmentally, this appears to be normal. Kids who jump ahead fast sometimes suffer from what I call "peaks and valleys" syndrome. Some students plug along at a turtle's pace and get to the finish line with little fanfare and few major disappointments or overwhelming successes. Other students seem to take years to "get it" and then everything just clicks and a whole year's worth of curriculum is suddenly at their fingertips. And still others, like mine, seem to make these amazing leaps and then suffer from what I can only conclude is academic amnesia on a regular basis. I think what happens is that a part of their subconscious brain gets it. But, their conscious mind blocks it from really settling, so it sort of floats in and out until it finally finds a home and decides to stay.

Anyhow, rather than chastising him for not paying attention (which he probably wasn't) or not applying himself, I decided to try a different approach.

"Do you think you need some help?"

With his bottom lip prominently pronounced, he replied, "Yes."

"I could practice with you. When is your next timing?"

He told me he had two more chances to pass this timing before the end of the school year. Basically, the kids are given timings and they pass as many as they can before the end of the year. Not all kids are on the same timing. Some are working on addition, others are working on subtraction, some are working on review. So, I'm actually pretty proud that he made it through all of them, since it's a goal, not a requirement. He doesn't know that, though, and is determined to finish ALL of the timings. So...two more chances.

I sat down and made several worksheets with 21 problems, set the timer on the stove, and watched him struggle, slowly, to make sense of the problems, even when they repeated. It wasn't working, and he was getting frustrated.

So, instead (and I'm no math teacher...but this seemed to work!), I just wrote out the 10's (10-1, 10-2, 10-3...etc.). Then, I pointed at each one and asked him for the answer. Then I sped it up. I repeated the questioning, moving faster and faster, until he didn't hesitate with any of the answers. This morning when I quizzed him in the car, he remembered them all, without a problem. 

I remember whole class choral recitations of the multiplication tables. That "kill and drill" boring memorization stuff I did in school. But, guess what? I learned my math facts. 

Sometimes, the old way is the best way. And it doesn't always have to be fun. Last night, as I watched my son sweat his way through the practice, fail, tear up, and ask for another try. I saw something in him that I wish I saw in more kids (hell, I'd like to see it in more adults): determination. He didn't care if he was having fun. It wasn't about that. He didn't care if he wasn't being entertained (we do way too much of that nowadays). He just wanted to conquer the task set before him. It was internal motivation, propelled completely by his own disappointment in himself.

Quite often, the boy just plain amazes me.

Unexpected Kindnesses

There are those moments, when I truly wonder if what I'm saying is getting through to my son. Am I teaching him to be kind enough, brave enough? Am I teaching him how to be skeptical when necessary and caring when he should be?

I try to model it. Just the other day, I let a man in front of us at the check out. I had about 20 items, and he only had a container of potato salad. He was a large man, at least 6' 5", wearing an orange vest and a transit badge. But, he had a kind face, and I had nowhere special to be. So, I asked if he'd like to go ahead. His face lit up, and he thanked me profusely, several times, and then told me he hoped I had a wonderful day and that I'd just made his. Which made me think, have we really gotten to the point where people are shocked by kindness?

Obviously so...because just tonight, my son walked out to my husband and I on the couch with two dollars in quarters. He reminded me that we needed to put money in his envelope for a field trip his class is taking on Friday. And then he informed us that he was going to get another two dollars, of his own money, because he wanted to pay for his friend. He continued on, telling us how his friend says he doesn't have a lot of money and that his dad needs to buy groceries. Holy cow! These guys are six! And they are already sorting through the problems of the world.

I immediately teared up. And my husband looked at me out of the side of his eyes. The empathy sort of took us by surprise. We told him how proud we were of his caring nature and that it was wonderful that he wanted to pay for his friend...that this is how we take care of the people who are close to us. It is just this sort of selfless friendship that the world needs more of. The kind that children can teach us, apparently better than anyone else.

So yes, I teach my son to be a good person through actions every day. But he reminds me through actions like this, that what I do does matter, and that simple kindnesses are amazingly important.

The beauty of independent, introverted children

I have a very independent little boy.

He's smart, stubborn, determined, and less affectionate, in some regards, than a lot of kids his age. Sometimes that's hard to swallow. In the drop-off zone in front of his school each morning, he might return my "I love you" if I say it with the request for the reply built in...my tone, drawing low like an admonition. But at other times, the words roll off his tongue like butter, smooth and unexpected.

With a child like mine, whose moments of affection are sporadic and sometimes rare, they remain a constant and sweet surprise. I almost prefer it to a steady stream of kisses and hugs, because his "moments" seem to come out of nowhere, at just the right time. And they seem to mean so much more because of it.

Once, on a stressful morning where nothing seemed to be going right, I rolled up to the school just as the bell was ringing for kids to go into the building. I was agitated, felt rushed, and certainly wasn't focusing on my relationship with my son. He grabbed his things, and slipped out of the backseat onto the sidewalk, an apple in one hand, his hair still disheveled by sleep, his shoe laces dragging, as usual. At a dead run, he turned, stopped ever so briefly, and blew me a kiss.

I was so taken aback, so surprised, that it didn't even occur to me to blow one back. I wouldn't have had time, anyway, as he'd already turned back around to disappear behind the chain link fence and enter the school.

As a toddler, he wasn't the child who constantly asked to be picked up and carried. No, he wanted his freedom as soon as he was mobile. I'm not sure if it was due to the rather unconventional and harried experience of his birth, but he seems to have been born this way.

From day one, he slept through the night. He didn't cling to me, he didn't look back and cry every time I left him at daycare (maybe for the first week, but that was more about his unwillingness to accept the "new" or to handle transitions with aplomb).

Last year, when I took him to the North Olympic Kids' Marathon, I came ready to run along with him. That sea of children, many with accompanying parents, lined up at the starting gate. I looked down at him and asked if he wanted me to run with him (because of his nature, I never assume he'll want me or need me to do things with him and I don't press myself on him). He looked up at me, smiled (happy I was there to support him), and said, "I got this, mommy. I don't need you to run with me."

So I let him run, and I waited, camera poised, to get a picture as soon as he came into view on the return lap. As soon as he saw me waving, he waved back, smiled, and yelled, "I did it! All by myself!"

So, yes, I guess I could be sad that my child doesn't "need" me all the time. But, since I don't base my identity on him, that sadness is also sweet. He's not an extension of me. He's his own little person. We are separate beings held forever close by blood. He's a lot like me. Introverted, and inwardly affectionate. He loves me. He loves his family. He loves his pets. He cares for his friends. But, he keeps his circle small, and he reserves his reservoir of affection. He comes by it honestly, as do I. A long line of "you know I love you...you know I'm proud of you..." folks who show what they feel in their eyes rather than saying it.

It's not optimal. I know I should be more verbal about my feelings for others (it drives my husband crazy, as he's a much more openly affectionate person than I am), and I try show my affection through words and actions as often as I can. Encouraging him to offer a more outward show of his love for others. But, in the long run, he is who he is.

And that's okay with me.

Telling our kids to do things themselves

Years ago, I remember watching this particular episode of The Simpsons where Marge has just had it with her family, books herself a vacation, and takes off for a little unencumbered down time. Of course, the stereotypical results at home (dad can't - and doesn't - handle the children and sort of falls apart without his wife, whom he relies on for most everything having to do with his home life) and the expected outcome (she enjoys her escape for a day or two, but then begins to miss her kids and husband, no matter how much they drive her crazy).

I can relate. My family drives me crazy sometimes, but I wouldn't trade them. Oh, sure, a break now and then might be nice, but being needed (all the time) - while exhausting - is better than not being needed at all. And when I stop to think about it, even though children often take their needs being met for granted, I know that I am showing my son I love him but simply making sure I "show up" in some way whenever I hear, "Moooooommmy!" shouted from some corner of the house or yard...even if "showing up" just means yelling back, "What!?!" and continuing the conversation in this way until he realizes I'm not going to come running every time he calls my name...because I have faith he can solve a lot of his own problems...and because I don't want him to get in the habit of relying on me for everything. I've raised him to be independent, and while I almost always "show up" that doesn't mean I follow the requests. "Mommy, will you get me a glass of water please?"...just as I sit down at the table to eat. "Honey, you know where the glasses are and are perfectly capable of using the water cooler." He rolls his eyes (because he expected me to say this), gets up, and takes care of it himself.

I know some women pride themselves on taking care of all their children's needs. But, as someone who works with preteens and young teens ("tweens") on a daily basis, I'm here to say that this habit can be debilitating to children. Fulfilling their every whim, picking them up whenever they cry, not letting them self-soothe themselves to sleep, making sure they are never bored, keeping them from ever feeling pain or loss or disappointment, ensuring their constant happiness...while these things might sound good, in the long run, they may just ruin our kids' lives.

I've read some pretty good articles about this recently.

"How to Land Your Kid in Therapy" (Atlantic Monthly) 
The Pursuit of Happiness (more affectionately known as "I don't want my kids to be happy") - Huffington Post

I actually linked both articles on my school website as "parent reading" recommendations. I realize we all have our own parenting styles, and some of my favorite parents are what I affectionately call "helicopter" parents (almost always, these are mothers...trained to fly by their family's insistent and never-ending requests --- some of us are easily trained...others of us are very stubborn and resist.)

For some parents (moms, especially), I think catering to our family's every need provides a sense of purpose and proves to us that we are necessary. But, there is a big difference between meeting a child's (or a spouse's) needs and being a slave. And when we take on the role of a slave, we help create "slave owners" who don't seem to be aware that anything is wrong with how they take advantage of their world at home. At first, this only affects the home. But, eventually, our little people won't be little anymore...and they'll head on off into the great abyss, looking for companions to join them on their journey. This is where it will become difficult. Because finding a life partner who wants to sign on as a servant won't be easy. And, according to the Atlantic article linked above, it may likely lead to depression.

So telling our kids do things for themselves isn't neglectful. Quite the contrary...it's one of the best things we can do to ensure their happy and successful futures.

Coming next..."Having purpose, not happiness, is the meaning of life."