My Husband Is a Sucker for My Daughter’s Bedtime Antics. And I’m the One Who Pays the Price.

Care and Feeding is Slate’s parenting advice column. Have a question for Care and Feeding? Submit it here or post it in the Slate Parenting Facebook group.

Dear Care and Feeding,

My husband and I have two kids, a 6-year-old son and a 4-year-old daughter. Our son isn’t usually a problem at bedtime. Most nights, one of us reads him a story, we turn off the lights, and then he’s out. Sometimes he comes downstairs after about 30 minutes and tells us he can’t sleep, so we go upstairs with him and read another story and he falls asleep after that. Our daughter, on the other hand, is a lot. She’s mostly stopped having tantrums, but lights-out is a nightly battleground. She asks for one more story, and then one more. She wears high- prescription glasses and is resistant to any attempts to get her to remove them before bedtime. Her favorite stuffed animal always needs some sort of attention (her friend at preschool broke her arm, so recently the unicorn broke her horn). Those are the main stalling tactics she uses, but there are others.

I’ve developed a strategy that works fairly well: We dim the lights and she gets in bed. I got a book of stories for kids that doesn’t have any pictures, and I won’t read to her unless she takes off her glasses. By the time the story is over, she’s more used to being in the dark and is willing to accept lights-out as long as her nightlight stays on. The only major issue left is her stalling with her stuffed animals. It took a lot of work and a lot of fighting to get things to get as far as they have, and I’m working on this last piece. The issue is my husband. Because of my work schedule, I’m not always able to put my daughter to bed, but whenever my husband does it, he always caves. He’ll cave into demands for one more story, but with pictures this time, meaning she has to put her glasses back on, and then her stuffed animal needs medical attention … and suddenly the bedtime routine is 45 minutes longer than it needs to be. He’s always apologetic afterward, but every time he puts her to bed, the next night my job becomes so much harder.

—Bedtime Woes

Dear Bedtime,

Ah, a classic parenting problem! You and your husband have different parenting styles (you have different personalities and are different people, after all). It’s frustrating, I know, to work out a system, stick strictly to it, and then have your child’s other parent screw it up. But here’s the thing, Bedtime Woes: You can’t make your husband do things the way you want them to be done. So either the two of you figure out a strategy together that is one he will be able to implement, or try something really radical: Put him in charge of bedtime every night.

I don’t mean this as a punishment! I just wonder if he gets as frustrated as you do if the bedtime routine is drawn out. If he doesn’t, then he’s the right one for this job. (If he does, then a week straight of this may toughen him up in the way you want him to be.) But let me say this, too: For some children, bedtime is just hard. They’re not being difficult in order to mess with, manipulate, or irritate their parents. They’re struggling. They need help settling down, letting go of the day, easing their anxiety, and who knows what-all else. Your son doesn’t have this problem but your daughter does. A strict routine may make her feel better and let her get to sleep without as much fuss. But this is not doable for every parent. And while a bedtime routine that’s 45 minutes “longer than it needs to be” may be immensely frustrating to you (and to many other tired parents at the end of a long day), it is not an intrinsic wrong. That extra 45 minutes your husband (maybe?) is OK with letting her have may be every bit as helpful to her, in its own way, as your carefully thought-out strategy for streamlining bedtime. If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it 100,000 times: There’s no one right way to raise a child.

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Dear Care and Feeding,

My 11-year-old, “Taylor,” struggled with anxiety and depression during COVID and after, but made great strides through therapy and medication and is doing much better—participating in school and having a social life. Lately, Taylor has started to get interested in organized sports, which is great, but because the other kids have been playing longer and are more familiar with the game, Taylor has a longer learning curve. This leads to a pattern that I’m unsure how to deal with: Taylor becomes obsessive about a sport in theory, talks about it as their passion and even chosen career—but then as soon as they try one organized practice or play one game, they become too embarrassed to continue playing the sport. I want to be sympathetic to their social and emotional needs, and I don’t insist they stick with a sport if they don’t want to. But I don’t know what to do with the question, “Mommy, do you think I can be a professional basketball player?” when the answer is honestly, “No, not when you’re not going to be willing to play more than one game/go to one practice.”

—Am I A Dream Killer?

Dear Dream Killer,

How about, “I don’t know, honey. And you’ll never know either until you try”?

Taylor isn’t career-planning—they’re daydreaming. No matter what profession a question like this is about (pop stardom, ballet dancing, firefighting, space travel, paleontology—etc.), that’s a fair answer. Since Taylor is 11 (not 5 or 6), I’d add, “Of course, becoming a professional _______ requires a lot of hard work, determination, and years of training and practice. But if that’s what you decide you most want to do, you’ll willingly put in all that work.”

And while I hasten to say that this isn’t a money-back guarantee, it might help Taylor at least a little at that first game or practice. Even if it doesn’t, you can gently remind your child of that conversation when they declare they’re finished with basketball after one try. Follow up by pointing out that hardly anyone is successful the first time they try something new, and that the other kids have had more time to get better at it but that it’s possible to catch up—and that the only way to catch up is to keep playing. Then let it go. If you end up having this conversation multiple times across multiple activities, its meaning may eventually stick, but even if it doesn’t, don’t let your own frustration get the better of you.

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Dear Care and Feeding,

I have a 7-year-old and a 12-year-old. Both of them had a beloved teacher, “Ms. Smith,” for first and second grade. My daughter still talked about her fondly and would go in to visit when we picked her brother up from elementary school; my son was thriving in her class. Last week, Ms. Smith died suddenly of an overdose. This was a big shock, and I’m still untangling my own feelings because she was responsible for the care of children, but I also have sympathy for her: Overdoses don’t happen to happy people. What we told both our kids was, “Ms. Smith died suddenly after being sick and it was a big sad surprise to everyone,” and we are making space for them to process and talk about it. There will be an age-appropriate memorial assembly in school for them. But our school district is small and gossipy, and I know there will be rumors if not outright discussion of what happened. Should we change the message we give our kids? I think our daughter is old enough for a more complicated discussion (and I know her current teacher is gossip-central this year).

—Complicated

Dear Complicated,

I’m not a fan of lying to children, no matter how well-intentioned the lies may be. When kids learn they’ve been lied to by a parent, that relationship is undermined: They wonder what else might have been a lie; they wonder if their parents can be trusted after all. So I do think you should revise your message before gossip revises it for them.

Tell both your kids, in separate conversations, that you have learned that Ms. Smith’s death was caused by a drug overdose. Answer their questions about this as they ask them. Your 7-year-old may ask only, “But what’s a drug overdose?” Stick to the question he’s asked and only the question he’d asked. Tell him, “It’s when someone takes too much of a drug.” If he follows up with, “But why would Ms. Smith do that?” you can honestly tell him that you don’t know. Your 12-year-old may already be aware of what an overdose is; she may skip right to “Why?” And of course, the truth is that you don’t know, but, as you say, a more complex discussion can be had with her. Make it clear to her that no one can know for sure what happened and why, that any gossip she hears will be speculation, and that the circumstances of Ms. Smith’s death do not in any way negate all the good she did in her life. Acknowledge that Ms. Smith may have been troubled in ways that you, and your child, were unaware of. Let her talk about how she’s feeling, acknowledge how sad and upsetting this is to you (no need to put on a brave face—and no need to express the “untangling” of your own conflicted feelings), and answer any questions she asks as honestly as you can (even if that means repeating “I don’t know, I wish I did”). Tell her that if any more questions occur to her, or if she just wants to talk about how she feels, you’re there for that. And please try not to jump to any conclusions about the role drugs may have played in Ms. Smith’s daily life. Because the truth is that you don’t know that either.

Dear Care and Feeding,

My young adult child lost their father recently and unexpectedly. I did not have a relationship with his family: I was an outsider—“the girl who got pregnant and ruined his life.” I raised my child myself with a great deal of hardship; I always picked up the pieces from his father’s failures. I am extremely sad for my child, and of course, I’m sad for his father’s family. But I don’t know if I should reach out and let them know I’m sorry for their loss. I’m a caring person, but they have always treated me like trash. I have forgiven them, but I can’t forget all the ways they’ve hurt me. I’m trying not to make this about me, but that’s very difficult. They haven’t been honest about their son’s actions, they’ve made excuses for him, they’ve manipulated history to suit them. Still, I don’t want to hurt my son by not reaching out to them at this time. What should I do? Contact them after the funeral? Not contact them at all?

—Confused in California

Dear Confused,

You don’t want to make it about you, so don’t. Write the family a note. By hand. It doesn’t matter if you write it inside a condolence card (but please don’t just send a condolence card without writing anything but your signature; in my experience, that can sting), on stationery, or on a plain piece of paper. What matters is what you say, which is that you’re sorry for their loss, that you know they must be in deep pain over it, and that you’re thinking of them. All these things are true.

You needn’t say anything else, call them on the phone, or attend the funeral (unless your adult child begs you to accompany him; in that case, go for his sake, so he can lean on you, but give the mourning family a wide berth). But mustering the will to make this small gesture of kindness and compassion, despite how hurt and angry you are, will do you good, I believe. Acts of kindness can be as helpful to the actor as to the recipient. Despite how awful they’ve been to you, letting them know that you feel for them—and letting your son know that you are able to feel for them—is your best path forward.

—Michelle

Our two adult sons (26 and 28) have always had completely different personalities and interests, and when they were growing up, they always did their own thing. I was hoping that once they were adults, they would have a relationship, but they still prefer to have nothing to do with each other. At one point not that long ago, one of them made a vague reference to some serious transgression on his brother’s part, something having to do with a girl.