Mean Parenting.

The look on her face when I asked her to put her clothes away was a killer.

The attitude oozed off of her like steam. And my patience wore thin.

"We always do chores." She complained and I started making a list in my mind of all the things I had done all day.

When she saw the stack of thank you notes at the table, I could see that I had really struck a nerve. But two weeks after the big party, they are overdue.

She sits at the table sighing and slumping and I am growing frustrated but remain quiet.

She finished the task and it's time for dinner and again I've struck out because she had no free time today between homework and putting clothes away and thank you notes. It seems I have stolen her day and it's all my fault.

Today it was the clothes but yesterday it was emptying the dishwasher. Two weeks ago, she says in a tone, it was sweeping the kitchen and remember that time you made me take out the recycling.

And don't even get me started on her friends. They don't do chores and if by chance they do, their parents pay them. Per chore. According to her that is.

I am in awe and completely miffed. Don't we all as parents think we had it much rougher and tougher than our kids do? And she's complaining?

My job, I told her, is to be your parent.

Chores are a part of this family. Sometimes that's putting your clothes away. Sometimes that's setting the table. Sometimes they're big. Sometimes they're small. But we all help each other here.

And someday we hope that these kids have picked up a thing or two about making their beds and picking up their rooms and when they've got their own places {something M tells us will never happen for her} they'll know how to take care of themselves.

Aren't we supposed to be teachers? Teaching them how to do these self-help and life skills, like chores?

I'd be game for allowance, but that's not what's being asked. I'm being asked for a handout.

Reward me. Praise me. Spoil me 'til your blue in the face.

I don't want to, I hear, all day long. Chores. Homework. Dentist/Doctor visits.

It's rough to be a kid these days.

She's finishing her thank you's and asks me a question. I know why she's asking and I'm pretty sure she knows the answer all the same. What do I think about her getting a present when she got her immunizations a couple weeks back at the doctor?

T laughed. And laughed. And laughed. And after I picked myself up off the floor, I told her that I think that there are hundreds and thousands of children in this world who don't have health care, who can't go to the doctor when they're sick, let alone when they are healthy. That there are children born with disease, such as in Africa and Aids that don't even have a chance at life.

That I think it's pretty ridiculous.

My present to my kids when they go to the doctor, or get medicine or to the dentist for a cleaning is their health. Keeping them healthy is my gift to them.

I sit and shake my head at how spoiled this family of ours is. Two of our kids have not just one, but two beautiful homes with more clothes and toys and things than they need and then some.

All six of us have three meals a day and before our stomachs even rumble with hunger we are filled with snacks or drinks beyond necessity.

We can go to the doctor or the dentist and get medicine whenever we need without worry.

Our cars run and we fill them with gas whenever we need.

I could go on and on and on about the good things we have going that make doing chores and regular doctors visits blessings in comparison to some of the bigger world issues.

At the end of the day, these things matter.

Do my kids know that I love them?
Were their needs met?
Am I teaching them how to be a steward of their resources and things and teaching them the life skills they need {age-appropriately}?

If so, I am doing my job as parent.

There's another story on mean parenting, er, I mean teaching responsibility, over at Cribsheet today, too. Must be something in the air these days! Go take a peak.