I Do It My Way: Raising Self-Sufficient Kids

By: Elizabeth Redhead Kriston

Why is it that delegating work is more exhausting than just doing things myself? I strive to be the parent that raises self-sufficient capable humans who can march out into the world prepared for anything. I want to teach my kids to cook, clean, do laundry, brush their own hair and teeth, and even dress themselves. I do. I really, really do.

The problem is that making them do all that stuff is hard work. Convincing them that it really is for their own good, exhausts me. Making sure that they do it correctly and efficiently makes me feel more like a prison warden than a mom. I nag and harp and criticize and make them do it over again. I have found myself running a finger along supposedly swept floors and dusted furniture completing a simulated white glove test. They rarely pass.

I have been watching a lot of Downton Abbey lately. As a result, my orders to “wash those windows and don’t leave streaks” or “don’t put that dress in the dryer, it will shrink” are barked in proper aristocratic English with a slightly snobbish accent. I have always had a knack (or curse) for immediately adopting the accent of the culture in which I am immersed at the time. When vacationing in the South, I instantly adopt a southern drawl. When dining in a Mexican restaurant, my “r’” sounds roll and I breakout the few words of Spanish I recall from my days living in California, working with awesome folks from Mexico. It really is annoying.

Beyond my irritating accents, teaching kids to be house servants comes with a lot of parenting baggage. When I was a kid and my mother told me to scrub every speck of wood in our house with Murphy’s Oil Soap, I just did it. Yes, I was weird and liked cleaning, but still, I did it. I ask my kids to put their dishes in the dishwasher, not on the counter above it, and they huff and puff and roll their eyes back into their pretty little heads.

Blogs, like this one, are rampant on the interwebs (yes I know this is a made up word). Everyone knows the right way to parent children and are all to happy to tell us all about it. Everyone does it differently and everyone is convinced their way is the right way. In reality, my way is the right way.

Okay, that sounds like what I am saying is do it my way, it’s the best way. And, while I really think it is, what I am really saying is that for me and my family my way is best. Though I am confident in my choices, I do listen to what others have to say. I watch how others parent. Sometimes, I am even convinced to adjust my thinking, my approach.

"Yes, there were times, I'm sure you knew When I bit off more than I could chew But through it all, when there was doubt I ate it up and spit it out I faced it all and I stood tall And did it my way" ~ Frank Sinatra

No matter how I work to achieve it, my final goal always remains the same. I want my kids to be able to master a few basic life skills:

Feed themselves (preferably healthy food).

Manage their finances (I don’t want to give them more of my money than necessary).

Look presentable and not stink (you would think this would be the easiest one to teach, but…)

Recognize when things are dirty and know how to clean them (this will prevent unwanted evictions and illnesses which will inevitably bring them back to my doorstep).

Maintain a yard (just in case I am lucky enough for them to move out and own a house in the future)

Manage their time (they are going to need to juggle their lives while taking care of me).

So, day after day and week after week I look at the sink of dirty dishes that my kids made when they prepared their own lunches but did not think to wash. They are banking on me to just do it for them. Yes, it would be so quick, easy, and painless to walk over, rinse them off, and place them in the dishwasher. 

If I just do it, it will be done correctly. I won’t find piles of rice and pasta at the bottom of the dishwasher because one was too lazy to rinse or scrape the dishes first. I won’t open the washer drawers and find glasses and plates stacked willy-nilly in such a way that nothing will ever get clean. I won’t reach into the cupboard and pull out a recently “scrubbed” pot to find it coated with oil and food residue because the child did not think to use hot water or soap when washing it.

If I just relent and clean their mess myself, I won’t have to be overcome with feelings exasperation and irritation. I won’t have to holler up the steps and intrude into whatever it is they do up in their bedrooms for hours on end (though I know it’s not cleaning or putting away the weeks’ worth of laundry I just washed and folded for them). I won’t have to demand they return to the scene of the crime and chastise them for being lazy and thoughtless. I won’t have to suffer the dirty looks and mutterings of curses and slanders directed at me.

I could remain happy in my peaceful solitude and wash those dishes, but I signed up to be a parent. I promised myself and them that I would raise them to be the best people they could be. Making them redo their shoddy work is more than just getting the work done correctly, it’s teaching them to be respectful, to be responsible, to be honorable, to be hardworking, to be detail oriented, to be careful and take care, to be self-reliant, to be kind, to manage their time. All the things I want for them can be taught by simply making them wash their own dishes.

Day after day as I find myself parenting my way, the best way, I hear myself asking, then telling, then ordering, then threatening. I find myself feeling defeated and frustrated as I continually second guess my determination to make them do all the things I want to do myself. Then one day, I come home and all the dishes are sparkling clean; the laundry is washed and folded and tucked neatly into dresser drawers; and dinner is prepared, waiting on a polished and neatly set table.

I smile to myself, basking in the rewards of my persistence. Suddenly, I am jolted from my reverie as I realize I was dreaming. It was not my home, but her home. She is the mom now. She is working to pass on the same values I taught her, to her children. If that is how it plays out in the end, then my way truly was the best way.