Quick outline
- What this thing is, in plain words
- Why I tried it with my kids
- Real moments at home (the good and the messy)
- What worked, what didn’t
- My tips if you want to try it
- Final verdict
What it even means (the short version)
I read “A Theory of Objectivist Parenting” and then used it with my two kids for three months. It’s based on a simple idea: kids are people. People think. People choose. Choices bring results. Respect goes both ways.
If you’d like to dig into the source material itself, you can find “A Theory of Objectivist Parenting” by Roslyn Ross on Goodreads.
If you’d like to see another parent’s perspective, this real-life review of Objectivist parenting gave me useful context before I jumped in.
That’s the heart of it. Use reason. Tell the truth. Trade value for value. Don’t guilt kids. Don’t make them “owe” you love. Stand firm on rights and rules. Be kind, but not a doormat.
Sounds neat, right? It did to me too.
If you want more stories of Objectivism applied off the page, the essay archive at Full Context is a gold mine. One piece I loved was a month-long deep dive into blogs that distilled what really stuck from daily Objectivist reading.
Why I tried it
I got tired of power fights. My son argued over screen time. My daughter hid homework. I sounded like a referee who also made snacks. I wanted calm and clear rules. I wanted fewer “because I said so.” And honestly, I wanted my voice back.
You know what? The book promised structure and respect. So I gave it a real shot. Reading an honest hands-on review of everyday Objectivist living also nudged me to commit.
How it looked at my house
1) Chores as trade, not nagging
I set a “house jobs menu.” Each job had a price. Wipe table: 50 cents. Load dishwasher: 75 cents. Yard help: $2. The rule: your room and your messes are your job and not paid. Extra jobs are paid work. No work, no pay. Simple.
My son loved the menu. He picked two jobs a day and saved up for a Lego set. No whining. No threats. He felt proud, not pushed.
Odd twist: my daughter tried to charge me “overtime” for wiping a spill she made. We laughed, then I said, “That’s not extra value. That’s your mess.” She rolled her eyes and did it. It stuck.
2) The homework contract
We wrote a tiny contract on a sticky note:
- You pick either 4–5 pm or 6–7 pm for homework.
- I’m help on call, not a boss.
- If you skip, you lose 30 minutes of screen time that day.
It was clear. And it worked better than any chart I’ve used. He chose 6 pm most days. I sat nearby. He asked for help when stuck. No drama. On two nights he skipped. He lost screen time, and he accepted it. Natural cause, natural result. No yelling.
3) Bedtime as a trade-off
We tried “lights out” at 9 pm, but with a twist. If they were in bed by 8:45, they got 10 minutes of reading light. If not, lights out at 9 with no reading. A choice with a cost.
Most nights, both hustled for the reading time. One night, my daughter missed it and cried. I felt cold at first. Then I sat with her and said, “I love you. I won’t change the rule tonight. But I’ll rub your back while you fall asleep.” She calmed down. She made the earlier time the next night.
4) Screen time as a tiny market
I set a weekly “screen budget”: 5 hours. They could spend it how they liked. They could “earn” 30 extra minutes for reading to their grandma or for helping each other with chores. If they wasted time arguing, the clock still ran. Time keeps moving; that was the lesson.
They learned fast. Less whining. Better planning. It felt… grown up.
5) Property rights ended so many fights
We marked Lego sets and crafts with a dot color. Red dots were my son’s. Blue dots were my daughter’s. Shared bins were green. You may ask. You may trade. You may not grab.
One day, my son used her special glitter pens without asking. He cleaned and replaced them, then offered one of his snack bars as a “make-good.” She accepted. No lecture from me. I almost cried happy tears in the pantry, which is very on brand for me.
6) Feelings still mattered
This part shocked me. The book says reason first. But feelings still count. We made a rule: “Say what you need and why.” Not “You’re mean.” More like “I need quiet because I’m tired.” It sounds small. It changed the tone. We spoke like a team.
7) The safety line
Freedom stops where danger starts. Helmets. Seat belts. Stove rules. Those were not trades. Those were firm. I said why, then I enforced. No nonsense.
Where it shined
- Fewer power fights. Clear cause and effect did the heavy lifting.
- Better moods. The kids felt seen, and so did I.
- More honesty. My daughter admitted when she forgot an assignment. No lying, because she knew the result was clear and fair.
- Pride. My son saved money for a model kit. He owned it. That glow? Worth it.
Where it stumbled
- It felt cold on hard days. Logic doesn’t fix a kid who’s melting down from hunger or a bad day at school. When the brain is fried, reason can wait.
- I sounded like a lawyer. Contracts, trades, rights—good ideas, but you can’t talk like that non-stop. I had to soften it.
- Grandparents didn’t love it. “Why is bedtime a deal? Just put them to bed.” We had some talks about it.
- Toddlers? This is tough. My niece is three. She needed simple choices, not a “market.” Safety and comfort came first, and fast.
- It takes time. Setting the jobs menu, tracking screen budgets, talking through rights—it’s work. Worth it, but real.
Real hiccup story
One night, my daughter wanted more screen time. She tried to “borrow” from next week. Good try. I said no. She cried and said, “You care more about rules than me.” That cut deep.
I paused. I knelt. I said, “I do care about you. The rule helps us both. I won’t change it tonight. But I’ll sit with you and we can color.” She sniffed and said okay. We colored. Then she went to bed. The next morning, she asked if we could plan her screen blocks before school. We did.
So yes, it felt cold at first. But it warmed up when I added presence.
Tips if you want to try it
If you want to see Objectivist principles tested outside of parenting, this account of living as a moral Objectivist offers smart parallels you can borrow.
- Start small. Pick one area, like chores or bedtime, not all at once.
- Write tiny contracts. Sticky notes work. Clear and short.
- Pay for extra value, not basic care. Don’t buy back good behavior.
- Keep the “why.” Explain the reason in one line. Then act.
- Add kindness on top of firmness. A hug doesn’t break a rule.
- Review weekly. If a rule creates chaos, fix the rule.
Before my kids hit the teen years, we’ve started stress-testing their reasoning on real-world claims—everything from “energy drinks make you smarter” to whether vaping boosts athletic performance. One evening we dug into the science behind a rumor that nicotine ramps up testosterone levels and helps build muscle, and we found this evidence-packed breakdown: Nicotine and Testosterone — Does It Actually Work? Reading the plain-English summary of peer-reviewed studies together showed the kids how to separate flashy marketing from hard data, a skill that pairs perfectly with Objectivist “check the facts” thinking.
A quick note on parental sanity: my patience skyrocketed once I started scheduling regular “grown-up nights” that had nothing to do with slime recipes or spelling lists. If you’re in Delaware and curious about lining up an adults-only evening without the usual planning hassle, the local listings at AdultLook Dover can point you toward options for a discreet night out, letting you recharge so you can come back home ready for the next round of Lego negotiations.
The verdict
I’m keeping most of it.