Independence

Since Jimmy was born and I’m frequently tied up in another room changing, dressing or feeding him, I’m now encouraging the girls to be more independent.  I’ve spent the last few years doing things for the girls in an (often futile) attempt to control our surroundings, but now I need them to be more self-sufficient.  For example, I always preferred to pick out their clothing and dress them myself to avoid clashing patterns/fights over outfits/stuck arms and legs.  And I didn’t let them help themselves to the snacks in the pantry in order to cut down on the spills and the inhalation of contraband food.  And I didn’t let them drink out of “big girl cups” because I didn’t want to clean up the spills. 

But now.

Now I’m trying to get the girls to fend for themselves, and they think they won the lottery.

Hungry?  Go grab something out of the cupboard.  

Bored?  There’s a pile of toys and books.  Have at it. 

Dirty?  You know where the towels are.

It’s not that I coddled them before.  In fact, I’ve always tried to make sure the girls had plenty of time where they had to play by themselves so they could use their own imaginations not become abnormally dependent on me.  And I’ve always tried very hard to avoid fussing over them, especially when they get bumped and bruised (Just ask my mom, who I think is mildly horrified every time I inform one of my wailing girls that their injury “isn’t so bad.  You’re fine.  Run it off”).  

In fact, I’m a fan of “Free-Range Kids,” a website devoted to curbing the trend toward so-called “helicopter parenting” where moms and dads hover and micro-manage the lives of their children (Disclaimer: I don’t agree with everything on that site, so don’t think I’m going to be abandoning my toddlers at a park any time soon to play by themselves or anything!).

But I’m having to come to terms with the fact that sometimes having more independent children requires more work on my part.  Because when they come to me and say they’re thirsty, I tell them to go grab a bathroom Dixie cup and fill ‘er up at the bathroom sink (the only sink they can reach via a stool).  But I don’t always remember my kids’ fascination with running water.  A drink turns into a hand-washing marathon, which turns into an involuntary bath. 

It’s strange how the cleaner my kids try to get, the messier my house gets!