parenting

By Christine Elgersma, Senior Editor, Parent Education at Common Sense Media 

If your kid's online, there have probably been times when you've wanted to track everything they've texted, see their entire social media history, or just shut off the internet entirely. Those are the times you wish for the perfect parental controls -- something that will grant you all the access and authority you want without making a bad situation worse. The truth is, while clicking a few buttons on a hardware device or downloading a monitoring service seem like no-brainers, the most effective parental control is free and knows your kid very well. That's right: It's you. Digital tools and settings can help you stay on top of your kid's online life, but can't replace staying involved, having conversations, and helping them make responsible choices. Need more convincing? Here are the key reasons why you are the best parental control around:

Fighting tech with tech can fail.

If they put their minds to it, kids can defeat almost any parental control. One of the truisms of the digital age is that your kids probably know more than you do, and it's easy for them to Google "How do I get around parental controls?" and read step-by-step instructions for dismantling your carefully chosen software or device. Of course, there are tools that do what they promise and offer you some comfort and control … at least for a while. So, if shutting down the internet via a tap is helpful for your family, pairing it with conversations likely will make it more effective. And if your kid does an end run around your parental control, let them learn to code so they can channel their skills in a positive way.

Spying isn't sustainable.

Kids -- especially older kids -- may feel like parental controls invade their privacy. According to one study, the loss of trust prompted by parental controls can weaken your whole relationship. Simply shutting the internet off is one thing, but if you try to track your kid's social media accounts or read their text messages, they may just create new profiles and take their conversations to other platforms far away from your prying eyes. Instead, when you decide it's time for them to go online or have a phone, let them know upfront that you'll do spot-checks -- not to "catch them" or get in their business -- but to support them as they learn balance in the digital world. If you decide to use parental-control devices or platforms, integrate them into ongoing conversations so they can serve as a safety net as your kid is learning the ropes. The world of digital media and its influence on our kids are far too complicated for simple solutions or ultra-strict oversight.

What you say makes more of an impact.

Instead of flipping a switch, be the voice in their head. Teaching and modeling a healthy approach to the online world will have a much more lasting impact. Being able to shut down the internet in your home at key times can be very helpful, but it's also a bit like always fastening your kid's seatbelt for them: Eventually, we want them to remember to buckle up on their own. To get a kid to really remember something, research shows that some information requires repetition over time. A combination of showing them a healthy approach and discussing media and tech use over time, on multiple occasions, will help kids regulate themselves and build skills to carry into adulthood. When you say things like, "Remember to think before you post," "Don't talk to strangers on the internet," and "Use strong privacy settings," they'll remember. As new technology comes and goes, we are our kids' North Star, the constant guidance in a constellation that keeps changing shape, and tech-based parental controls will never shine as brightly as our influence.

Sharing instead of shutting down sparks learning.

Sometimes we let our kids use devices because we're looking for a few minutes to get something finished, and setting time limits and doing spot checks -- verbally or with digital parental controls -- is important. But the more we can watch and play with our kids, the more they'll learn from the media they're using. Research shows that just sitting with your kid while you watch heightens their awareness, which can make them more receptive to learning. It can also boost literacy skills and empathy, and -- since we know our kids best -- when moments come up in media that apply specifically to our kids' lives, we can use those instances to start a discussion, ask questions, and make connections. Also, the more we model this dialogue with media for our kids, the more they can look at it critically, ask questions themselves, and take away lessons for their own lives.

“I want a dog,” Caroline begged. “Please.” Our daughter was seven years old and had made up her mind.

“Someone will have to take care of the dog,” we told her. “It’s a lot of responsibility.” I had a full-time job and we had two children. We already had enough responsibility.

“Then let me get some kind of pet,” Caroline pleaded. “Any kind of pet.”

So we all talked about what kind of pet Caroline might get. It would have to be easy to care for and inexpensive. A cat? Too stinky. A bird? Probably too noisy. We decided on a goldfish. You never had to walk a goldfish. They never barked or whined in the middle of the night. They could swim around without a collar or a license.

Caroline really loved her little goldfish. She named him Rainbow. She sprinkled food into his fishbowl once a day and cleaned it once a week. She wished Rainbow good-morning and good-night and asked him how he was doing. She even asked him if he had enough light to see where he was going and if he preferred a different location in her bedroom. A more dedicated owner no pet goldfish ever had. Given the chance, I’m sure Caroline would have taken Rainbow out for a walk too.

But then, just a few weeks later, Rainbow died. My wife and I discovered him dead, floating without a flutter on the surface of the water in his bowl, and had to tell Caroline. That was hard for us to do, just as we knew it would be. She broke down in tears, and we had no success comforting her. We offered to get her another goldfish, but she said no thank you.

How and why Rainbow died we have no idea. But no foul play was ever suspected. Maybe he was old or sick. Maybe he missed his pet-store friends.

Now came another tricky issue: what to do with the body. As it happened, it was summer, and we belonged to a beach club on the Atlantic Ocean. Caroline came up with the idea: we would bury Rainbow at sea. 

So off we went to our cabana, Rainbow adrift in a plastic bag filled with water. We shuffled in our sandals on the hot sand toward the shoreline. Caroline stood there with us holding the bag.

She told Rainbow she loved him and was sorry he had died and would miss him. Then she said good-bye and dropped Rainbow into the surf. The waves quickly wafted her pet goldfish out into the ocean and out of sight. Caroline slowly waved good-bye, crying.

Losing Rainbow was how Caroline first learned that nothing is guaranteed to last forever. It also showed us just the kind of daughter my wife and I were lucky enough to have. Sensitive to the suffering of others, particularly the helpless, such as babies and other small creatures. She hated to see the vulnerable hurt.

Empathy and compassion are hard to teach, if they can even be taught at all, but maybe they can be learned from experience. Caroline knew how it felt to be hurt. Sometimes kids in school made fun of her because she was small, just like Rainbow. She never told me about any of that; I had to find out from Mom. Now maybe her sympathetic nature came naturally. But more likely, it was early on that she came to understand and identify with anything small.

That’s also why Caroline grew her hair and gave it to Locks of Love for children who go through chemotherapy. It’s why she breaks into tears at scenes in certain movies about a hardship—Dumbo separated from his mother, for example—and at the sight of a dog limping along missing a leg.

Caroline is still like that today. Just ask Coco and Edgar, her two rescue dogs.

Every week, starting when I was ten, my mother took me on a forty-five-minute drive to ballet school. We kept up this routine for two years, until it became clear that no amount of lessons would ever turn graceless, waistless me into the Sugar Plum Fairy. But if those car trips didn’t lead to the dancing career I’d dreamed of, they gave me something I prized even more: time alone with my mother. Ballet night was the one night of the week I didn’t have to share her with my sister and my father. During those long rides to and from dancing school and at dinner in a coffee shop after class, I had her all to myself and was the center of her attention. It was bliss.

I can’t be sure that all children want to have their parents to themselves, but I certainly did—and so did my kids. Just as my husband and I needed time alone together, my son and daughter made it clear they craved time alone with one or the other of us, mostly by asking unsubtle questions that included the phrase “just the two of us?”

I suspect that even the closest of siblings sometimes fleetingly wish that they were only children and could have their own rooms, their own stuff, their own moms and dads. This is hardly surprising; if kids have a tough time sharing their toys, how much tougher must it be for them to share their parents?

Recognizing our own kids’ desire to have at least one of us all to themselves, their father and I tried to give them an equal portion of our undivided attention by pairing off and doing things separately with one or the other of them. This practice allowed us to address their dissimilar interests and concerns and kept in balance the exquisitely calibrated scale of fairness all siblings seem to have implanted in their brains. We never had to field the question regularly heard in other households of four or more: “How come he (she) gets to do that and I don’t?”

My son, for instance, has always loved the outdoors in general and hiking in particular, something his sister has loathed apparently since birth. So, when he and his father would go off hiking together on weekends in the spring and fall, she and I would go to visit Grandma, who lived two states away and baked the best banana bread within a thousand-mile radius. And while the guys were bonding over trail mix, she and I were driving westward and talking about everything under the sun, from what she would wear for Halloween to the ever-shifting allegiances of fourth-grade female friendships. In fact, it was during one of these three-hour drives to Grandma’s house that my then nine-year-old little girl asked me if a teenager could have a baby. The question triggered our first serious talk about how her body would soon start to change and what that would mean as far as having babies was concerned. It was a conversation we could never have had at, say, the family dinner table.

My husband and I made sure that we didn’t always pair off girls on one side, boys on the other. So, I was the one who took our son shopping when it came time to buy him his first suit, and my husband was the one who took our daughter to play in her soccer team’s first weekend match. The result was that he got to cheer when she made her first and (as it turned out) only goal of the season, while I got to catch my breath at how handsome my son looked in blue serge. I’ll never forget how, at lunch that day, he looked up shyly from his cheeseburger and told me about the “really pretty” classmate he planned to ask to the seventh-grade dance. 

Through the years, moments like these helped the four of us develop unique relationships with one another that were subtly different from the ones we had as a foursome. I believe these supplementary bonds strengthened us, both as a family and as individuals, because they satisfied a deep-seated and universal human desire. The fact is that no matter how good it feels to be an integral part of a family unit, all of us—big and small alike—yearn for intimate, one-to-one connections with the people we love. 

Soon after we brought our newborn daughter Caroline home from the hospital, her five-year-old brother Michael wanted us to take her back. I know that because that’s exactly what Michael told me and his mother.

My wife said, “OK.” And then she started to wheel Caroline in her stroller out of our apartment.

“Where are you going?” Michael asked.

“I’m taking your sister back to the hospital, just as you said you wanted,” she said. “But then I’ll have to stay there with her.”

Michael looked at his mother with a confused expression on his face. “You’ll have to stay with her?” he asked.

“Oh, yes,” my wife said. “Of course I will. She’s too little to take care of herself.”

We could see Michael giving this whole idea some really deep thought.

“Oh, OK,” Michael declared. “She can stay.”

And that was that. And so Caroline stayed.

Since then, Michael has changed his tune. In fact, he’s always looked out for Caroline. Early on, he would stand alongside her crib, his hands on the railing. Look, he seemed to be thinking, I have a little sister. One time, at a nearby McDonald’s, Caroline, then about five, crawled into one of those long tube slides and disappeared from sight. We waited for her to come out, and then we waited some more, until we started to wonder if she had somehow gotten trapped. Finally, without being asked, Michael climbed into the tube, saw that she was just hanging out in there, and coaxed her out.

Another time, while Caroline was still little, she kicked Michael in the legs—for no apparent reason. Her brother could easily have kicked her back, and probably kicked her harder than she could kick him, but he refused to do that. Caroline got the message, and never kicked him again.

And so it went with our son and daughter. They would be in a restaurant with us, and Michael would curl his right arm around her shoulder to bring her close to him, as Caroline pressed her forehead against his cheek. And we have photos that show much the same. Michael and his one-year-old sister floating in a bathtub foamy with bubbles, happy just to be together. Michael during a summer vacation, holding her from behind, his left arm around her waist, as Caroline smiles broadly, looking as if she feels protected from the water in his embrace.

That’s how it is in photo after photo all through the years, because that’s how it goes with Michael and Caroline. Jump ahead five years, then 10 years, and the story stays the same. Michael’s always ready to watch over her and keep her safe. And Caroline would do no less for him.

I’ve done the math here. First Michael came along. Then Caroline joined us. And now they’ve created something else. I can see how much they mean to each other, how much they belong together. In the end, it’s really as if one plus one somehow equals three. 

As a toddler, our son Michael came into our bedroom at night to sleep on the carpet near our bed. He never knocked on the door or asked to come in or tried to climb into our bed with us. He always conked out on the side near his mother. Obviously, just being near us—or, rather, her—gave him a sense of security.

I’m sure my wife felt flattered by his wish to be close to her, though she never said so. Who could blame Michael, really? I mean, there he was—what, two, three years old?—in his room down the hall from us, thinking, Hey, it’s dark in here and I’m all by myself. And then I can imagine his just deciding, Look, enough of this alone-in-the-dark stuff. I want my Mom.

All around, it was really cute.

Michael’s habit of silently slipping in to join us lent our nights an aura of mystery and suspense. I remember waking up and wondering, Is he here yet? He would make his entrance at different times, most likely whenever he felt the need, rather than going by any regular schedule. And then I might look down, and there he would already be, sprawled out with his eyes closed and his head on a pillow, all tucked under his blanket. And so night after night in he would come, our reliable little visitor, bundled in his baby-blue pajamas, the three of us sleeping together in the stillness and the quiet until morning.

This little ninja routine of his brought its problems, though. For example, I would get up at night to go to the bathroom and either almost step on him or trip over him. So we had something of an issue there: I wanted to avoid hurting him—and myself.

And then, Michael turned four, and I started to wonder how much longer he planned to be our nighttime roommate. I suspected he was getting a little too old to depend on our company all night. And of course, the older he got, the more he grew, creating a larger obstacle.

Now, please understand. I loved having our little guy there. Some nights I would kneel down next to him in the shadows and look at his beautiful face, just watching him breathe. But I was concerned about squashing him, and said so to his mother.

“Maybe Michael should sleep through the night in his room from now on,” I said. At a certain point he would need to learn to sleep by himself, just as everyone does, and maybe the sooner the better. I wanted only what was best for him.

“It’s fine,” his mother said. “It’s no big deal. He’ll stop coming in when he’s ready to stop coming in.”

Naturally, I worried about what the future might hold if we took this course of action with no cutoff point. Michael would be sleeping with us in our bedroom at the age of 10, and then at 20, and then at 30. He would graduate from college, start a job, get married, even have kids, but still there he would be, sleeping on the carpet next to our bed. And all along my wife would be saying “It’s fine; it’s no big deal. He’ll stop coming in when he’s ready to stop coming in.”

But one night only months later, I looked next to the bed and four-year-old Michael was nowhere to be seen. And the next night, too, and then the night after. And eventually I went to his bedroom to check on him and there he was, warm under the covers, at last secure enough alone to stay put. 

And for just a quick moment, proud as I felt of our son, I wanted to invite him to come back.

By Caroline Knorr, Parenting Editor, Common Sense Media 

As parents, we have a natural instinct to choose who we want our kids to be friends with -- and who we'd rather they not hang around. The same instinct kicks in for media role models. We like Doc McStuffins because she's smart and kind. SpongeBob? Maybe not so much.

In today's 24/7 media environment, in which kids may be spending more time with media than they are with their parents, choosing positive role models is more important than ever. By the time kids are in middle school, they start to look to their peers for a sense of what's socially acceptable or desirable. Parents may remain the primary influence in their kids' lives, but the competition starts to get fierce at this age. This separation is entirely age appropriate. But when the media comes into play, the values you want to pass down to your kids may be competing against, say, Homer Simpson's. Or, folks like Logan Paul, who's YouTube channel has millions of followers and is hugely influential (for all the wrong reasons).

In fact, the stars of social media are just as likely to be role models as traditional celebrities. These so-called influencers reach out to kids via TV, YouTube, video games, Twitter, and music -- all of which are broadcast or easily accessible 24 hours a day. And as we all know, not all the characters or people who gain popularity through these channels have stellar role-model credentials.

The good news is that there are plenty of positive role models you can point to that may influence your kids to make healthy choices, learn to respect others, achieve goals, and avoid anti-social behavior. Negative role models -- especially ones who don't suffer consequences for their actions -- can encourage anti-social behavior, stereotypes, and even cruelty. Help your kids choose positive media role models who embody the values you want to pass down.

Tips for parents of young kids

• Limit screen time. Kids grow and thrive best through personal interaction. Spending time with them, playing, and reading are great ways to build a foundation to impart your values.
• Find age-appropriate content. Kids ages 2-7 should be exposed to media featuring good role moles, racial and gender diversity, and no stereotypes. Check out some of the positive role models on YouTube. 
• Encourage positive socialization. Look for role models who impart positive social lessons, like sharing and being a good friend.
• Respect differences. Encourage kids this age to accept and respect people who are different by exposing them to media that includes people of diverse backgrounds.

Tips for parents of elementary-aged kids

• Avoid stereotypes. Point out strong female characters or male characters who share their feelings. Try not to reinforce stereotypes in media selection (i.e. princess movies for girls and truck videos for boys), since that can reinforce societal imbalances. Take a look at our lists of Positive Role Model TV for Girls and Movies with Incredible Role Models for Boys. 
• Reinforce your values. Point out words and behavior in popular TV shows, websites, and music that are both positive and negative examples of what you do and don't want your kids to model. What you say to your child is up to you, but have the discussion.
• Flag antisocial behavior. Children like to imitate and pretend to be their favorite characters. When characters say mean things or behave cruelly, discuss the consequences.
• Go with the good stuff. Kids will be inspired by great historical figures, athletes, or TV stars. Take advantage of that adoration by pointing out their good traits, as in, "George Washington was honest. Honesty is an important quality." Not: "Lying is bad. Children who lie get in trouble."

Tips for parents of older kids

• Embrace what they like. Rejecting your kids' love of popular culture can close off avenues of communication. Embrace their world, but establish clear boundaries about what you find acceptable and appropriate. Talk about celebrities that cross the line. 
• Help teens balance their need for rebellion and self-expression with an appreciation of acceptable social action. Kids need to understand how to communicate and use media wisely and ethically. If they engage with media that includes antisocial behavior, make sure they understand the impact and potential consequences.
• Let older kids see things you don't agree with. But then discuss exactly what you don't like with them. Since we won't always be around, we need to make sure to instill critical-thinking skills in our kids.
• Don't shy away from pointing the finger. If your kids (or their schoolmates) are heavy media users and they demonstrate or are on the receiving end of any antisocial behavior or experience eating disorders, addictions, low school performance or depression, connect the dots -- and disconnect the source.

I was having breakfast recently with the appealing young woman who used to be my little girl, when she suddenly looked across the table and, out of the blue, began reminiscing about a game we used to play when she was in the first grade. "Remember how you'd put the cereal boxes in a circle on the kitchen floor,” she asked, “and then spin me around until I stopped in front of one of the boxes, and that would be the one I had for breakfast?" I smiled, flashing back to the hurried mornings when that game had been the only way I could make sure she didn't spend a precious five minutes pondering her cereal choices and wind up missing the school bus.

So many conversations with my children today start out with the words: “Do you remember...?”  The question always delights me. It feels as if they are extracting some happy detail from their childhood and presenting it to me like a gift. After all, kids are the repositories of our parental pasts, and when their memories are good ones, we can feel gratified. 

Our children often remember the little things that we, their parents, may not. So, just as I will never forget sitting on my father’s lap raptly listening to his nightly stories about a made-up, Orphan Annie-like character he called “Garbage Can Mary,’’ my grown-up daughter remembers how I pretended my fingers were “tickle bugs” and used them to tickle her awake in the morning. And just as I can still picture my mother hand-delivering trays of tea and toast to me whenever I was sick in bed, my son fondly recalls how I sat on the floor of his room and read him a book—about a mighty steam shovel, or a courageous dog, or a legendary first baseman—every night of his young life. 

Of course, our kids are bound to remember the times when they felt we were mean or unfair. I have many such misdemeanors on my rap sheet, and have found that the best way to deal with them is to either express regret, if I think they have a good a case against me, or explain myself, if I think they don’t have all the facts. 

So, when my daughter, at the age of 18, accused me of refusing to get her the American Girl doll she claims she begged me for when she was 10, I speculated that I probably hadn’t taken her request seriously since, as I remember it, she never liked dolls and wouldn’t play with the little girl next door who did. While I ultimately did say I was sorry she’d been disappointed about the doll, I immediately went on to enumerate some of the half million other things she’d asked for that (often against my better judgment) I had bought her.

Despite my daughter’s complaint, I’m convinced that it’s not the American Girl dolls and the X-boxes that count most with our kids, but the daily time and attention, comfort and fun we give them as regularly as we give them dinner. At least these are the things that seem to spring into their minds most often— treasured memories that fit into their pockets and that they carry out into the world, where they become signposts for their own behavior as parents.

I wish I’d grasped this essential truth earlier on. I might not have fretted so much about not getting them every little thing their hearts desired.  Maybe I didn’t listen hard enough to my own childhood memories. If I had, I would have realized that I knew all I needed to know about which ones matter the most. I only hope I’ve passed that lesson along, intact, to my children.

With the new year upon us, re-energizing your student about learning can seem challenging. With the right tactics, however, motivating your child to tackle 2018 doesn’t have to be a source of conflict. Techniques like promoting leadership or discovering your student’s preferred learning style can help both you and your child start the year strong.

1. Experiment with different learning styles

According to Howard Gardner, there are seven types of intelligence, also known as learning styles: interpersonal, intrapersonal, kinesthetic, linguistic, logical, musical, and visual. Gardner’s theory states that each student learns differently. For this reason, identifying which styles suit your student best can help her feel more confident. For example, she may absorb material more effectively when it is written on the chalkboard during class or on paper during homework time.

One key component of motivating your child is helping her feel confident in her abilities. Talk about how she prefers to interact with information, or experiment with several ways together. Discovering her individual learning style (or styles) can help your child begin the year motivated to tackle what lies ahead.

2. Encourage leadership skills

Is your student in fourth or fifth grade, or middle school? If so, it can be very helpful to urge him to take leadership of his education and any projects he may face in the coming year. Yes, you will still be present to assist when necessary. But if your child feels that he is in control of his education, he may be more likely to excel.

Allowing your student to practice leadership can take many forms, such as letting him choose which homework to tackle first. This may sound like a simple decision, but it is important to promote positive decision-making skills in your student’s everyday life. Discuss any areas where he would like to exert more leadership skills—perhaps he would like to help his little sister with reading or he would like to choose his extracurricular activities for the spring.

3. Foster an outside connection to learning

Your student will learn a great deal in the classroom, but engaging in activities outside school that continue this learning can be very beneficial. There are many ways you can strengthen your child’s connection to learning, both inside and outside your home. She could conduct simple experiments if she is interested in science, or write short stories if she is intrigued by the arts. Ask her about her interests and gauge what she might find exciting.

Another great way to motivate your student is to take field trips to local learning centers, museums, and historic sites. If your child is struggling with science, one way to get her excited about the subject might be to take her to a science museum and let her explore. She may find connections to information she has learned in the classroom and, in turn, may gain a better understanding of the concept. For example, if she is studying weather in science class, but cannot fully grasp the concept, she could explore the weather exhibit at a local science center. This idea can work for other subjects and locations as well, such as art museums and libraries. Speak with your student about areas where she is struggling or would like to delve deeper, and research how you can incorporate an outside learning connection into her education.

Motivating your student in the new year doesn’t have to revolve around helping him set resolutions. If you initiate an open dialogue about your child’s strengths and weaknesses, you can successfully motivate him to succeed in 2018. 

On a recent evening of baby-sitting, I put my two-year-old grandson in the tub for what I thought would be a quick bath. By the time I’d soaped him up and rinsed him off, however, he’d become so absorbed in pouring water from one plastic cup to another that you’d have thought he was panning for gold. When I suggested that it was time for him to come out and get dry, he shook his head vehemently. Seeing that he would not be dislodged, I sat down on the edge of the tub and let him continue prospecting.

After 10 minutes of watching him fill and spill and refill an assortment of containers, I began to wonder why I felt so unhurried, even serene, when only hours earlier I’d wanted to scream because the guy on line ahead of me at the bank chose to waste my time buying himself a money order!

It took me a moment to realize that I had entered what I used to call Toddler Time, a continuum that passes very differently from that of Standard or Daylight Saving Time. I remembered it well, having been there many times when my kids were small.

Like harried new mothers the world over, I’d tried at first to fit my little ones into my pre-parenthood conception of time, i.e., the idea that there is only a certain amount of it in any given day, and that amount has to be divided into segments of varying duration so that all necessary activities can be accomplished. The trouble was that seeing time as rigidly finite made me want to hurry, while children, I found out early on, are not programmed to hurry. They’re programmed to learn, and whether the lesson is how to pour water into a cup or button a sweater or catch a ball, it can’t be timed. Mastering the skill in question takes however long is necessary for any particular child, and “however long” is impossible to predict. Once I understood this, I decided that whenever possible I would put other obligations on hold and take time to watch my children learn at their own pace.

So, when my 18-month-old son made it clear that he didn’t want to be fed anymore—that if anyone were going to shove mashed potatoes into his mouth, it would be himself—I handed over the spoon. The result was that his dinnertime, which until then had taken maybe 10 minutes, could now take, well, forever. But what a rich time it was for both of us! He got to simultaneously make a mess and fill his tummy by his own hand, and I got to savor his increasing ability to deposit the food in his mouth instead of his nose.

I learned not to interfere with my children’s self-teaching, stifling my impulse to, say, show them how holding a crayon the “right” way would make it easier for them to control. I saw how much more satisfying it was for them to figure out stuff like that for themselves.

I remember watching my daughter one afternoon when she was just shy of two, struggling to slide colored rings down a stick attached to a pedestal. This particular pedestal, instead of sitting squarely on the floor, rocked back and forth, so that every time she tried to slip a ring onto the stick, it eluded her by tilting to one side or the other. I waited for her to explode with exasperation, ready to jump in and give her a hand, when she picked up a red ring, slipped it on the stick with exquisite care, and watched it slide smoothly all the way down, just as it was meant to do. I saw her stare at the toy for a second, as if surprised at her success, and then clap her hands together the same way I did whenever I applauded her efforts.

The awareness kids form that they can work things out for themselves becomes more and more precious as they grow up and the things they have to work out become trickier and more complex. The belief in their own abilities gives them the sort of confidence that nobody else can, along with a necessary tolerance for frustration. They learn to accept the fact that not everything comes easily, but that hard-won successes can be especially satisfying.

Entering Toddler Time is like stepping across a magic threshold into outer space—where the hassles of everyday life momentarily vanish—and of course none of us can go there whenever we wish. We can’t spend twenty minutes watching a 2-year-old pour water into cups when we have a 5-year-old in the living room determined to paint the dog’s toenails, or a 35-year-old in the kitchen who’s had a terrible day and needs to talk. When life calls, we’ve got to get the kid out of the tub and put an end, sometimes an abrupt and much protested end, to the lesson.

Whenever that happened and I felt I’d short-changed one of my offspring, I’d stave off guilt by reminding myself that they had to learn the world did not revolve around them, at least not all the time. It’s a fact of life that can’t be self-taught. Kids have to find it out from us, their parents, and it might just be one of the most important lessons they ever learn. I know it has proved useful to my own children practically every day of their lives—particularly on the days they have stand in line at the bank.

When my sister Ursula turned one, our mom, Madeline, bought her a big, red plastic ball. It cost ninety-nine cents and delighted her more than any other gift she received. For years my mom has told friends: “When your child (or grandchild or niece or neighbor) turns one, get the big plastic ball.” And everyone who’s followed the advice gets the same big-smiled result.

When that same sister was 30, six months pregnant, and living across the country, I flew her back home as a Christmas surprise for my parents. My own small children were thrilled to help sneak her into the house and wrap her, mummy-like, from head to toe with yards of snowflake wrapping paper while she stood stock-still without laughing for a good half hour. When we told my parents to come open their gift right away as it was perishable, they marveled for a while at this wrapped totem, trying to guess what it could be. Honestly, they had no clue; we’d all spent the run-up weeks lamenting a Christmas without Ursula. “A tree?” said my mom, to which my dad said, “No, it’s giving off heat.” They tried and tried to guess until my kids demanded, “Unwrap it already!” I think that was the year I realized that it’s more fun to give than to receive.

So, what makes a good gift? It’s all about age, stage, delight, and surprise. Add in “thoughtful and unique,” says Mia Galison, founder of eeBoo, a company that makes crafts, toys, and activities for kids. Last year I gave chilled cookie dough, alphabet cookie cutters, and a container of icing to my five-year-old cousin. For her child’s friends’ birthdays, my colleague Beth pairs books with significant props—Pippi Longstocking with zippy, striped socks, or The Last Crayon with a large new box of 64 crayons.

There’s a lot to consider in coming up with the right present. First, if it isn’t age appropriate or doesn’t speak to a child’s developmental stage, the gift will be a dud. “Children’s development, skill level, and how they play change as they grow,” says Tovah Klein, Ph.D., author of the book How Toddlers Thrive. “Think about where the child is in terms of development when you’re picking a toy for him,” she says. “Playing should be fun, and toys should support his development.” An expensive stuffed animal may be handsome, but probably not as much fun to play with for a one-year-old as the wrapping paper it comes in. Given this reality, you may want to wrap gifts for the very young with easy-to-tear paper, keeping the gift itself on the inexpensive side. Klein’s motto? “The simpler the toy, the better.”

Once you’ve nailed the age and stage question, experts agree that what kids play with should support exploration, learning, and growth. ”Matching games that ask children to find a connection between pictures, like a dog and a leash, are perfect for the 3+ set,” says eeBoo’s Galison, “because they are a delightful way to sharpen memory and focus.” Klein, a psychologist, is a fan of open-ended toys, which require no “right” or “wrong” ways to play. “They allow children to have their own ideas, to think, create, imagine, and make what they want,” she explains.

As children get older, they develop specific interests that gifts can complement. A preschooler who loves trains will be happy with new train cars, or even a miniature accessory that can add to an existing set. A six- to eight-year-old who is into art will appreciate a cool dot-to-dot book, or, if more sophisticated, a learn-to-draw book, such as the wonderful Illustration School series by Sachiko Umoto, including Let’s Draw Cute Animals. For more bang, pair with colored pencils in a cool tin.

It’s fun to get creative when it comes to tapping into kids’ passions. A preschool dinosaur fan might love a 3 ft. high inflatable T. rex, while an older budding paleontologist can appreciate a daytrip to the natural history museum followed by frozen hot chocolate at a special café. Got a game player in the house? Give a classic like Candy Land (3+), Trouble (5+), or Parcheesi (7+), along with coupons that guarantee your spot at the table as an opponent. You might enhance the package with a book like Who Was Milton Bradley? When you acknowledge a child’s passion, you affirm her individuality—a big esteem booster.

Whatever age you’re buying for, go for the “Wow”; presents must delight their recipients. My poor son Jamie used to unhappily refer to Christmas as the “shirt holiday” due to the number he received from well-meaning relatives at a loss for other ideas. It’s good to differentiate what kids need from what they’d like. A bike is a present. A bike helmet is not. “Unless,” says Galison, “you have fun with it.” Like my friend Jenny who gave her son Theo kneepads first and the skateboard second. “You said no so many times to that board,” Theo told his mom. “I never thought you would get it for me.” 

Personally, I’ve become a fan of experiential presents over the years— tickets, edibles, a workshop. But children love to open presents, so if you’re giving tickets to, say, a special show or concert, wrap that little stub of paper in layers of different paper, Bubble Wrap, and boxes so there’s some fun in opening your gift-to-be-redeemed at a later date. And consider throwing in a related but inexpensive add-in to go with that dance class or music lesson (think: a little tutu or harmonica) to be enjoyed on the spot.

Also, include your kids as you plan gifts for others so they learn the joys of giving. “Making a card for a friend is a way to introduce preschoolers to the idea of giving to others,” Tovah Klein says. Older kids can help pick out gifts for friends or sibs, though before ages five or six you shouldn’t expect them to express the selflessness it takes to shop for anyone else.

Include them, too, in charitable giving. As my children grew, holiday time gave me an opportunity to impart my values as I gave to toy drives or made year-end contributions to nonprofit organizations. “When they are eight or above,” Klein suggests, “you can involve them in donations, explaining that you are helping others who may not be able to afford holiday gifts this year.” When they are younger, says Klein, they don’t quite understand what it means that others have less. “In fact, it can sound scary that some children don’t have clothes or toys or their own bed to sleep in. If you help out a neighbor or donate books to the library, your child will see that giving is part of what you do.” 

For me, the adage “It’s the thought that counts” are words to live by. Some years, when I’ve been flush, I’ve spent a lot on gifts; other years, not so much. But always, always, I think of the recipient as unique and so, too, the present I give.