If Soft Parenting is a Crime, I am Guilty Guilty Guilty

I'll be the first to admit that all three of my daughters have suffered needlessly and silently as a result of
soft parenting.

My wife and I are soft parents. There. I said it. I'll leave it to my better-half to confirm or deny.

My older daughters, now off in University, bear the scars of having been raised by softies. Sure, they're intelligent, confident, hard-working (when they feel like it), kind, fun-loving, generous and all-around good people (not to mention beautiful, but that might be less about the parenting and more about the parentage). But they're also

• a tiny bit - and I do mean just a tiny bit - sensitive, in absolutely the sweetest way possible;
• a smidge competitive (not the kind that makes you compete hard; the kind that makes you dislike not winning even when you didn't compete hard);
• a wee bit fond of being pampered (at least around their parents). 

On that latter point, I will say this in defense of my inclination to pamper the women and girls in my life: I pamper with a purpose. It's part of a very well thought-out strategy. I pamper, I cater, and I indulge - and in return I get to have not let them down. A fair trade indeed.

Once, when my eldest was little, she wanted eggs. She felt like eggs. We had no eggs in the house. Her eyes started to water. She really wanted eggs. I went out and bought eggs from the grocery store. End of story. The hurricane raging outside, as it turns out, did not kill me. The thought of my little daughter, who really really wanted eggs and was close to tears, nearly did.

My second daughter probably got pampered too, although I can't remember any specifics. (Like grains of sand on the beach, who can recall but one of them?)

And I'm fairly sure my five-year old is feeling the effects of soft parenting as well. I don't really have the will (or the space) to list all the examples, so I'll instead share a few symptoms:

• We play ALL the time (thanks to whomever told her that her work is play) and when I don't want to play anymore she explains to me that that's not really an option;
• When she has to go to bed, she's genuinely puzzled and troubled by the fact that I get to stay up later than she does;
• When we do the 1-2-3 thing, while it works, she'd be hard-pressed to explain why;
• When we give her a time limit on something, she's okay with it as long as we don't set a timer (timers follow-through, her parents not so much); 
• When she's at the dinner table and needs something, rather than getting up to fetch it herself, she simply makes her needs known and expects me to go get it for her (no wait...that's her older sisters I'm thinking of...but how could I have attributed something they used to do so long ago to Micaela......no wait...)

Point is, I'm a soft parent. I know it. They know it. The two or three people who read my blog now know it too.

But lest you leave here today thinking that I'm completely spineless I will tell you that there are three times when I am not a soft parent:

• At bed time. That's when Daddy gets stubborn. That's when tears don't work. That's when bargains cannot be struck. Don't bother fighting Daddy at bedtime.
• When something matters to me. Very, very occasionally, something matters and I dig in my heels. I get angry. I get stubborn. Those are the times when all of the women I live with know to just back away. It doesn't happen often - because it usually involves the Leafs and the playoffs - but when it does...
• When there's a spider that can't be ignored. Daddy won't do that for you. Don't even ask.

Just remember, soft parenting may be why today's children feel so entitled and are so ill-prepared for the harshness of life outside the nest, but at least it keeps them coming back to the nest. Soft parents like that.