Who's the Boss?

I recently read an article about the generation we're raising. In it, the author cites examples of how we are raising a society of self-important, privileged "douchebags" (his word). Whenever I read an article like this, whether it's tongue-in-cheek or not, I perform a little bit of introspection. As a result, I played some serious defense when I got home with Peanut that night...

My Director came home from work a little earlier than usual. I had just started dinner. (Normally, dinner is ready when she walks through the door.) It was bath night, and she proposed taking a bath before dinner. I was all for it. Get the bath, the bane of our parental existence, out of the way. Peanut, however, wanted nothing to do with this plan.

She's a creature of habit, and our habit is bath after dinner. She likes to come home and watch some television to unwind after school. And since it occupies her while I cook and she's been active and learning all day, I'm fine with it.

She cried, whined, and refused to negotiate. With that article fresh in my mind I told my wife she can't back down. She had to follow through and give the Peanut a bath right then.... before dinner.

She did follow through. I heard nothing but crying from the point they went upstairs to the point where I was able to put everything on simmer and go upstairs to offer whatever logistical and moral support possible. I entered the bathroom to find Peanut in the bath, crying... but no tears. She was just doing it to prove a point. What point that was, I have no idea.

I tried reasoning with her. "Sweetie, you like to have fun in the bath," I reminded her. "But you aren't because you're crying. If you stop crying you can just have fun." Didn't matter. She eventually calmed down... after the bath.

Dinner and the rest of the evening went fine. Until it was time for bed. Since we let her watch the rest of her movie after dinner, we told her the only part of the bedtime ritual we would do is read a book. A short book. She wanted to "read" it to us. Fine.

First My Director set the ground rules: "It has to be quick and you have to be nice." Well, no such luck. She tends to be a bossy procrastinator when we allow her to "read" to us. Telling us to be quiet. Refusing to accept our help. Annoying.

That was the final straw. She was being mean and we weren't going to stand for it. We kissed her goodnight and closed the door, with her crying on the other side.

And that was that. We didn't go back in. I think we made the right call in both instances. I also think making tough decisions that might make you feel lousy is an important part of ensuring you don't raise a little d-bag of your own. 

What do you think? Did we make the right call?

This post first appeared on My Husband Ate All My Ice Cream on November 1, 2011, in response to the article I linked above and a post she wrote about every child in a group receiving "participation" ribbons in classes and contests.