Now I know why it's called tough love

My Daughter will discover the cure for cancer, fix our nation's health care issues, make millions managing a hedge fund and be the first female Supreme Court justice.

Or she will kill me in my sleep and live out her life behind bars.

Similarly, I am either growing more skilled at teaching my kids life lessons with tough love - or - I'm a huge jerk who shouldn't be allowed to have kids.

Both are a little too close to call tonight.

Wife is at her sewing class tonight, so it was my job to get the kitchen cleaned up and put the kiddos in bed. Normally not a big deal, since Son has a pretty low-maintenance bedtime routine and since I've grown accustomed to the elaborate production known as Daughter's Bedtime.

Really the biggest challenge to doing bedtime solo is getting them both physically up the stairs, because if you use the words "upstairs" or "bed" in our house, the kids either head for the hills or do the thing where they scream and go limp and get three times heavier than normal.

Tonight was par for the course. I snapped Son up and started to carry him upstairs and told Daughter, "You need to come upstairs right now."

I brushed Son's teeth and as I carried him to his room, I called from the top of the stairs, "Daughter, you need to come upstairs right now. If you don't come upstairs, you won't have any stories tonight."

I read some stories to Son and put him in his crib for the night. Then I headed downstairs to begin the showdown with the Little Miss.

She was on the couch. Her eyes were red from crying.

"Daddy, I don't want to go upstairs," she whimpered.

I scooped her up and sat down on the couch for a cuddle.

"I know," I said. I committed to the cuddle for a few extra moments so that she would know I wasn't angry with her.

"It's time to go up to bed," I said and lugged her upstairs.

She whined about brushing her teeth and declined the chance to sit on the potty one more time before bed. Then she ran to her room and climbed up in her bed, presumably preparing herself for a batch of stories.

"Now Daughter, do you know what we're going to do tonight?" I asked.

"What?" she said.

"Tonight we're going to learn a lesson. And here's the lesson: When I ask you to do something, I need you to do it. Especially when I ask you to come to me. It's very important that you come to me when I call you."

"Okay," she whispered.

"Here's how we're going to learn this lesson tonight. I told you that if you didn't come upstairs when I asked, you wouldn't get any stories tonight. You didn't do as I asked. There won't be any stories tonight," I told her.

And with that, she came unglued. The screaming. The crying. The kicking.

I scooped her up again into a big Daddy cuddle and let her cry for another minute or so. Then I asked her to stop crying and listen to me.

I made a point to not raise my voice or communicate anger to her in any way. I talked in a calm, matter-of-fact voice.

"I need you to know two things, Daughter. First, I'm not mad at you. Second, I love you."

She sniffled a bit.

Then I asked her, "Am I mad at you?"

She answered no. I asked her two more times just to be sure.

And I asked her, "Do I love you?"

She answered yes. I asked her two more times just to be sure.

Then I got up to leave and she fell apart again. More of the screaming. The crying. The kicking.

I came downstairs and picked up their Little People from the rug in the den and let her scream out some energy. After about 10 minutes had passed, she was just screaming, "Daddy! Daddy! I want my Daddy!"

The Dad of Steel couldn't resist that, so I went back up and took her a Kleenex to wipe her eyes and nose.

"Daddy, I don't want to go to bed," she said.

"I know," I said. "Would you feel better about bedtime if we said our prayers?"

She said yes, so we prayed together.

Then I left her room and came down here to type. I checked the monitor a moment ago and she's sound asleep. Sweet little thing.

I always second-guess myself in those tough love situations. I always wonder if I'm doing the right thing and helping her build character or if I'm just being a big stubborn jake-arse.

I suppose I won't know for a long, long time. That kind of uncertainty is hard to deal with.

That may be part of why it's called "tough love."