Just Say "Yes."

My two and-a-half-year-old wakes, groaning at 1:00am, and I sleepily scurry to her bedside to calm her. She mumbles "milk..." and I begin to protest, then immediately relent.  She wants milk, and I want her to go back to sleep before she wakes her mommy and her sister.  So milk it is.  Is this the wrong choice?  Am I teaching her she'll always get what she wants?  If it's the middle of the night, and It's within my power, that's fine with me.

There are so many guidelines for how not to spoil a child.  Yet their status is that of someone who is spoiled more or less by definition.  Sure, they ought to pull their own weight.  But it isn't very much weight, after all.  It's simple, we get them stuff.  It's not all the time, and it's not always exactly what they want.  But much of the time, they've figured out what they can get, and they ask for it - and we give it to them.  So why this constant struggle, generation after generation to make sure we don't spoil our children?   Sure, there are those who go overboard, but that's generally when they lavish their children with things they don't need at all - such as cars or iPhones, or other items, often intended for adults.

So I draw the line at need versus want.  Could my daughter have survived without her middle-of-the-night milk?  Of course.  But will she get nourishment from it while it helps her get back to her much needed sleep?  Yes it will.  So it fits my requirements for a good choice.  I do prefer to say yes to my children as often as I can justifiably do so, because I want them to grow up to be people who say yes as often as they can justifiably do so.

If my children wind up with a first instinct that instructs them to say no, they will be ill-equipped to enjoy life and all the good it has to offer.  Of course I want them to think before they act.  But I don't want them to always think "No" before they answer.

Honey Cake

On Rosh Hashanah, my daughter and I made honey cake together.  My wife, who wasn't feeling well, called instructions to us from the living room as we stood at the kitchen counter with the recipe while gathering the ingredients.  My daughter was perched on a chair wearing her Fancy Nancy apron over a pair of underpants.  I don't remember what I was wearing, but the honey was sweet, and the batter was thick and the kitchen smelled like a holiday with flour sprinkled all around. 

I didn't realize how much I would cherish that memory, while we were in the middle of it.  But I'm already looking forward to next year when my daughter (or daughters) puts an apron on over her underpants and stands on a chair with a large wooden spoon, ready for the task at hand.  It's one of those moments where there is truly no inclination to consider the future or dwell on the past.  Just measure the ingredients carefully and mix, mix, mix.

Each time I take a bite of honey cake - sticky and dense - it's not nearly as sweet as the thought of standing at the kitchen counter with my daughter.  This is the exact thing that I don't want to end.  This is the meaning of parenthood.  This is why I must have grandchildren.