I have always said that if I could be reincarnated, I would want to come back as one of my mother’s grandchildren. That position carries with an unbelievable benefits package. You get the title of center of the universe, plus you get the luxury of basically running grandma’s house, then as a bonus you get to spend all of grandma’s disposable income to buy unneeded and soon forgotten toys. It’s the closest thing to royalty we have on American soil. My mother’s career as a grandparent began with my daughter in April of 1995, so we are just now learning some of the long term effects of relentless adoration. My daughter is so spoiled she has bypassed rotten and gone all the way to putrid. What’s really funny is that after years of this overwhelming indulgence my mother has the nerve to disavow all knowledge of how her grandchildren came to hold themselves in such high regard.

I will admit that teaching my only child the value of a dollar and the satisfaction of a hard day’s work has been quite a challenge. Add grandma Santa Claus to the mix and it would seem that all chances of reigning in my baby, left the building with Elvis. Still, I do try to put brakes on this speeding train. Moderation and an occasional "No" do solo babies a lot of good. I deny my child things just as an exercise in restraint. "Mom can I have this new (pair of jeans, CD, handbag, or any other shiny thing that catches her eye)" is what I hear when we enter most stores. I find myself forming the word "No" before she can finish describing why she can’t live without this item. Now our budget won’t allow reckless spending. Before, I just saw how the constant giving was warping her sense or reality.

When my daughter started kindergarten, a gently written reprimand came home from the teacher asking my husband and I to explain to our child why she couldn’t be at the front of the line when her last name started with "H". Baby girl Harris, as she was known for the first thirty minutes of her life, broke into little pieces on the floor when she raised her hand and was not called on. Sharing toys was completely alien to her since at home all the toys were hers. Yeah it was bad. That was when my campaign of denial began. My mother may classify it as a form of child abuse but I call my version of the "Just Say No" campaign a success. If fact when the economy caused gas and grocery prices to shot up and divorce caused our household income to shot down, both she and I were glad we had already practiced the art of denial. There is nothing wrong with being happier with less. In fact it usually means you have more to share. So, parents, hold your head up proudly and say "No" to your kids– someday they’ll thank you for it.