DARYN KAGAN: Figuring out if you can do it yourself

A better mother would’ve come running.

You could make the case. The scream, after all, was rather blood curdling. From the other room.

I, however, did not flinch.

“Come quick!” one of our girls pleaded. “Please!”

I didn’t move a muscle.

I know the scream.

It was The Bug Scream.

“Please come kill this bug!” my child pleaded.

“How are you going to have your own bachelorette apartment one day if you can’t kill your own bug?” I countered from the other room.

The actual bug execution took some more coaxing than that. But the intent was clear.

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I’ve been determined to raise these girls to be independent women. To do for themselves. To distinguish an evil, prehistoric cockroach from a sweet potato bug who just needs a gentle escort outside.

I got this from my own mother. Not the bugs. The independence.

It was the No. 1 attribute she wanted to instill in her children.

For her this stood above being kind, caring or thrifty.

Granted, she might’ve taken this independence theme to the extreme. Still, there are virtues to knowing you can ask yourself, “Can I do this for myself?”

The question became mine to answer this week.

The key fob I use to start my car stopped working.

The spare threatened to go on strike.

“No key remote detected,” my dashboard barked at me as I tried to start my car.

“It’s right here in my hand,” I protested in an argument I knew I wasn’t going to win.

Realizing it must be a fading battery, I called up the dealership.

“Sure, we’ll change those batteries for you,” the service rep said over the phone.

I swear I heard him say, “Sucker,” under his breath.

Is there any other kind of customer that gets something fixed at a car dealership?

“Is the battery that special?” Daughter-Home-From-First-Semester-of-College challenged. “Don’t you think you could do that yourself?”

A brilliant question.

Which led me to a YouTube video showing me how to pop the fob open with a screw driver and replace the old batteries with new ones. $4.89 for two batteries at the grocery store.

As I popped open that fob and snapped in the new batteries I felt flush with pride.

I could do this myself!

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I qualified for my own bachelorette apartment.

There is the pesky detail of that fabulous husband. Who I do so enjoy. And have no intention of giving up. So no bachelorette apartment for me.

Instead, the more nuanced balance that age brings.

“Can I do this myself?” balanced with, “Is it time to let go of your pride and ask for help?”

Sometimes, it’s a bug.

Sometimes it’s bigger than you.

I’m calling you from the other room, Dear Reader.

How do you know?

What qualifies you for your own bachelorette apartment?

How do you teach your kids to do for themselves?

To squish their own proverbial bugs?

And to know when to ask for help?

Weigh in at Daryn@DarynKagan.

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