Back in the 80s, First Lady Nancy Reagan had a campaign against drugs centered on three words, "Just Say No." Thirty year later, as the drug war has raged and Americans debate the pros and cons of legalizing marijuana, I think "Just Say No" still has some validity. Not for those at risk of doing drugs, but for parents at risk of losing control of their kids. 

Every day I see kids begging for stuff (candy! toys!) or trying to avoid stuff (I don't want to eat! I don't want to leave the playground) whose whines often turn into screaming matches (the kids do the screaming) or rise to decibels this close to breaking glass. I acknowledge that all kids have bad days and that some have special needs I cannot spot, but what I find frustrating and annoying are the myriad of daily interactions I see that make me want to say, "You haven't said 'no.'" "No, you may not stay at the playground longer. No you cannot speak to (yell at) me that way. No, you may not hit me when you're angry. No, you may not take out your anger on other kids or their toys. A consequence should then be given, whether it's a time out, no dessert, or whatever you deem appropriate and then--this is key--enacted. If kids act out and aren't told they can't do so and then aren't held accountable for their actions in an age-appropriate manner, then the negative behavior will be repeated. 

Listen, if you don't care that your kid is climbing onto the top of the jungle gym, then don't tell them to stop. But if you do, then tell the kid and be firm about having them climb down to a safer level. If you know you should care that your kid is using your iPad but don't really mind, then please don't say 'no" without any conviction. Your kid knows you are bluffing and will keep on tapping away. It's the rest of us who have to watch you negotiate for 15 minutes about the three minutes the kid supposedly has allotted for iPad use. You cannot negotiate with children. You will lose. Kids not only sense when you don't mean what you say, they recognize prior behavior (yours) and know how long they have to push before they successfully wheedle whatever it is they want from you. 

It appears some parents never say "no." Ever. If a child isn't going to bed at bedtime it's not because the child "just won't," it's because you pretend not to see him sneak out of his bedroom and then reward him with attention if he stays up. I once watched a child come up to Monkey and hit him. Twice. In the head. The parent only said the child's name, but never said, "No, we don't hit our friends" much less made him apologize. I've seen children who don't eat their dinner but get fed ice cream when they're hungry 20 minutes later. If I could have gotten away with that as a kid, I would have never eaten dinner. 

I know there are exceptions for certain behavior or a point when parents can't deal and give in. I get it. I also get choosing your battles, but commanding respect is not optional. Treating others with kindness is not optional. I cannot promise that your kid won't crumple onto the floor when you say "no," but I can promise you she'll get up. Even though saying "no" and disappointing your kids is difficult, when you say "no" consistently, life gets easier, not harder. Instead of prolonged whining until a kid gets his way, there could be silence because he knows you mean what you say. Instead of asking a million times for sweets or TV time, your kids may not ask once because you've consistently told them they can't have access to either until after dinner. 

The other day Munchkin collapsed on the floor in public because I wouldn't give her my coffee to drink. It was easy to say "no" because one-year-olds don't drink coffee and we all know Munchkin does not need caffeine. So next time your kid asks for a cookie right before dinner or a toy you can't afford, pretend it's coffee and just say "no."

Munchkin is in love with her big brother Monkey. Wherever 4-year-old Monkey goes, 21-month-old Munchkin wants to follow. He plays soccer, she wants to play soccer. He plays with trains, she wants to play with trains. After seeing Monkey cruise around on his scooter, Munchkin started imitating him three months ago. Without Monkey's caution or any sane person's logic, Munchkin has gone from short pushes on the scooter to zooming down sidewalks without knowing how to brake. 

Wednesday, armed with a helmet and her own scooter, I let Munchkin scoot home from the Farmer's Market. While Monkey and his friend sped along the boardwalk, Munchkin struggled to keep up. She could move quickly but only for short bursts. Enjoying her freedom from the stroller, she also stopped to look at plants, rocks and dogs, lagging behind her big brother. Occasionally I'd surreptitiously move her scooter forward, but more often I'd wait for her to get back on her scooter and pull her down the walkway. Sometimes she'd protest and say, "I do!" Other times, she'd barely notice my hand on the handle as she scooted along. Towards the end of the mile-long walk, she started to ask me for help and happily plop herself on the scooter as I towed her home. 

As I pushed and pulled her along, I realized that this journey home was symbolic of parenting. When kids are little, they want to do things they can't quite complete alone. Brush their teeth correctly. Put the right shoe on the right foot. They want to do it alone (No! I do!) but need a push to make it home. We show them the road, we guide them across the streets, we warn them of huge bumps and kiss their knees if they fall. Munchkin, so new at scooting, still needed a hand both to move forward and to stop. Monkey, however, was zooming along, already practiced in dodging big holes and maneuvering over bumps. Yet, he knew to wait for me to cross streets and count on me to soothe him after big falls. 

We do our best to not only protect our kids, but to give them new adventures, teach them to push themselves, build confidence, take leaps of faith in their abilities. Parenting isn't just about watching our kids grow up, it's challenging them so that they experience new things and learn new idea so that they can grow up. It's about watching them fail before they succeed and always being there to lend a hand to help them reach their goal.   

Monkey and I were standing in line for a ride at my husband's elaborate company picnic. A dozen three- and four-year-old children waited to ride one of the half-dozen flying elephants that were alternately rising and falling above the ground. I was watching as each child- parent duo squeezed onto the seat of the elephant, smiling and giggling when Monkey, grinning, stated, "I want to ride this by myself." I was a little surprised and, honestly, a little sad. I had been looking forward to sitting next to Monkey as he whirled around in the sky. I smiled and stopped myself from saying, "Are you sure?," and instead replied, "Great!" It was at that moment that I knew that my shy little Monkey was growing up and this, I've realized, is his summer of courage. 

Since Monkey was little, he's always been a bit reserved. When he was little, Monkey had no fear tackling his little girlfriend (sorry Beanz!) who was almost 6 months younger than him, but she was the one to throw herself into the fray at birthday parties, while he held back. When the two of them took swim classes he was the most reluctant in the pool. Though Monkey enjoys the freedom to entertain himself with a train or a good book at home, he's always liked to have an eye on my husband or I at big gatherings. 

This summer, however things are changing. When Monkey went to a trial soccer class with a friend last year, he had fun, but consistently kept an eye on me and came back repeatedly for a reassuring pat on the head. When I took Monkey to soccer last month, he ran off with a smile and focused on the coaches, laughing and running gleefully the whole time. 

In July, I decided it was time for Monkey gain some confidence in the water and learn to swim, so I joined a gym with a pool. The first time we went, Monkey clung to my neck and didn't want to let go. By the end of an hour in the water, he had loosened his death grip and started to relax. Just days before Monkey's first class, when I told him he wouldn't be swimming with me, but with teachers, he was upset. He kept saying, "I don't want to be with teachers! I want to be with you." I tried to conceal my anxiety and told him he would be fine, but I dreaded his reaction to the class. Lo and behold, we got to class early and the teacher immediately put him at ease. Within minutes, Monkey was off with him swimming around while Munchkin and I played a few lanes away. I was shocked, impressed and happy all at the same time. Now, the little boy who used to hate water on his head, voluntarily puts his face in the water and tackles the local splash pads with glee and goggles. 

Even the mundane has become simpler. When visiting my sister, I had to break the news that his beloved cousins weren't home and couldn't keep him company in the basement playroom. Instead of being upset about, he said, "That means I can play with the trains all by myself." When we tackled Coney Island, he enjoyed a roller coaster ride that would have scared him last year. 

All these steps of independence and confidence have made me very proud, though I'm not sure I can take much credit. I used to wish Monkey was a little braver than he was, but instead of responding to any pushing from me, he has tackled his fear on his own. 

For all the pride I feel, I also fear this is a bit like the beginning of the end. Sure, he's still going to be cuddly and near me for years to come, but I can now see a future where my teenaged Monkey doesn't need me anymore. I've always wanted him to be an independent and decisive child so that he can grow into an independent knowledgeable adult, but his easy departures sting just a bit.

The other day I took Monkey to a three-hour drop off camp for the first time. When he heard the owner say I couldn't stay to watch, Monkey was sad and kept saying "Don't go." But when the gate to gigantic play area opened, Monkey immediately ran off. Munchkin and I watched him for a few minutes and I tried to catch his eye to say goodbye, but Monkey never looked back. I guess brave little Monkeys don't need to.