In parenting, you don't usually get to see the results of what you're doing right away. All these lovely life lessons you're constantly imparting--everything from "brush your teeth" to "be kind to others"--you're hoping they'll sink in now, but what you're really banking on is some kind of competent adult emerging from your household someday. You pretty much resign yourself to the fact that you're not going to see the fruits of your effort for another 10, 15, 20 years.

That's why it's so gratifying when you have one of those days where you DO see some of your parenting mojo actually working. Allow me to brag a little bit here, because I need to document these good moments to build myself up for later, when I'm seeing nothing but screaming and whining and wailing out of my kids.

Beth is starting to get reading homework a few times a week now. Usually it consists of an inane little story made up of the handful of words she has practiced reading with her teacher. "Look, Sue. I see a seed. Do you see seeds? Or do you see weeds?"

But the homework paper she brought home to do over Thanksgiving weekend had a section titled, "Words you can sound out." That is, words she had never seen before but just ought to be able to figure out by now.

She read five out of the six sound-out words admirably. But one of them tripped her up. "Nnnnuh...aaaaa...tuh. Nnnnuh...aaa....tuh," she said. She looked up at me. "I don't know this one."

"I know, sweetie, but keep trying. You can do it," I told her. She didn't look convinced. "It's a name," I told her, trying to help. "Like, a boy's name. Except...I don't think you actually know anybody named this name." Maybe I'm not really very helpful.

"Nnnnuh...aaaa...tuh," she said.

"Look at the last part of the word," I told her. "See the letters? Can you think of other words with those letters?"

And she could. She came up with a whole list of them. Cat, hat, bat, sat, rat. "So this is just like those words, only with 'Nnnnnn' in the front," I said.

"Nnnnuh...a....tuh." She was getting tearful now. "I can't do it! It's too hard for me!" she said.

I knew--not just imagined, but KNEW--exactly how she felt. It absolutely kills me when I fail at something. Especially something I'm usually really good at, like schoolwork. Especially when other people are watching. Especially when they are telling me I ought to be able to do it. It's embarrassing, and it's frustrating, and I hate knowing that I'm not performing up to what people are expecting out of me, and I start to cry. I don't know how many times I've played out this scene before, except that it used to always be me sitting there teary-eyed looking up at a frustrated parent or teacher. It was bizarre, being the one on the other side of the table.

I don't really want my kids to grow up to be like me. I want my kids to grow up to be BETTER than me.

And so I told her that I was sorry she was frustrated, but that she was not allowed to say it was too hard for her.

The crying turned into sobbing. What am I doing? I asked myself. This is kindergarten. It's one word. Am I crazy to be making a big deal about kindergarten homework?

So I sent her to her room to get control of herself. I came in and hugged her. And I told her that she could take a break if she wanted, that she didn't have to finish it right now, but that she did have to finish it eventually, no matter what.

"You can ask for help as much as you want. You can try as many times as you need to. But you're not allowed to quit and you're not allowed to say you can't do it," I told her. "I know you can do it."

She sighed shakily. "I want to finish it," she said.

"No," I said. "I think you're too upset right now. Why don't you take a little break?"

"No," she said. "I want to do it now."

So we went back out to the table.

"Nnnnnnuh....aaaaa....tuh," she said.

"Good. Just try it as many times as you need to. Try put all those sounds together and say it smoothly," I told her.

"Nnnnnnuh....aaaaa....tuh. Nnnnnnuh....aaaaa....tuh. Nnnnnnuh....aaaaa....tuh."

Evie was fussing and wanting to be held. Lucy was asking for a drink. I picked both of them up and held them, one on each knee, trying to get them to be quiet, only halfway listening to Beth.

"Nnnnnnuh....aaaaa....tuh. Nat. Nat! NAT!"

"Yes!" I leaped up from the table. "Nat! That is it! Perfect!"

We high-fived. We did a little dance. I triumphantly initialed her homework paper while she watched. And then we went on with our night.

I would have put it behind me as just one more of those daily challenges motherhood brings, if it weren't for what she said at bedtime. We have about a half-a-dozen little rituals we do every single night at bedtime, and one of them is talking about our favorite parts of the day. Lucy's favorite part of the day was eating a cookie after dinner. My favorite part of the day was getting to go to MOPS and visit with my friends. And Beth's? Beth knew hers right away.

"My favorite part of the day was reading a new word. NAT. Because it was hard but I didn't quit and I read it anyway," she said.

And that's when I knew that for once, something had sunk in. I actually taught her something about not giving up when faced with a challenge. And that was my REAL favorite part of the day.