The Privilege of Parenting Other People's Kids

How clear boundaries, communal discipline, and a little honesty can help kids thrive in group life

I was among the first in my friend group to have a child. So when we were invited to Waldport in the fall of 2019 for a weekend that promised the conversation-heavy, shared-meals, sleepover-style bliss of our twenties, I wanted to give my pals a heads-up about what it might be like to have a toddler in the mix. During our preparation, I sent an email that said, essentially: “I know this is new—thank you for welcoming a kid into a space where there haven’t historically been any. Sorry in advance if sleep gets disrupted. And most importantly: please help us set boundaries with our kid. We want you to like him and he’s still learning how to be socially successful in a group like this—he may need clear, direct guidance sometimes.”

My motivation in sending that email was to preempt the discomfort that can come with “parenting” someone else’s child. I wanted (and want!) my friends to feel comfortable saying honest no’s to my kids because clear, respectful limits (“I’m not able to read that book with you right now” / “the playdough needs to stay at the table so it doesn’t get in the carpet”) make space for genuine, joyful yes’s. And wow what a gift it is to witness other adults engaging with my child when they truly want to—the stories read, the trains choo choo’d, the beaches walked. Here’s just one snapshot of my kid being cared for that weekend six plus years ago:

This all reminds me of something Magda Gerber once said: “We want to raise children we not only love, but in whose company we love being.”

As someone who happens to know a bit about child development (and who’s unusually comfortable setting limits thanks to years as a classroom teacher), I felt a certain responsibility to help shape a culture where children are not only welcomed, but guided—where raising kids is a shared effort, not a solo act. I’m not talking about micromanaging or bossing kids around—or forgetting that they’re in a completely different developmental stage than we are. But I do believe that setting limits—respectfully, without judgment, and in service of the child—is deeply loving.

This mindset stands in contrast to that infamous Onion headline: “2-Year-Old Unaware He’s Basis For 6 Couples’ Decision Not To Have Kids.” It’s hilarious, yes—but also revealing. It reflects a cultural belief that if a child is doing something they probably shouldn’t be doing, it’s either the child’s fault or the parent’s problem—not something the broader community should engage with.

But I see it differently. To me, limits are loving.

I like to say—respectfully—that kids are witchy. They are wildly perceptive, deeply attuned. They know when something’s off. If someone’s annoyed or unhappy or biting their tongue, they sense it. That’s why it’s kinder to be honest before you’re seething. To set a clear, firm boundary before you’re fried. It’s easier on everyone—but it’s also something so many people are scared to do.

Janet Lansbury has two podcast episodes on Unruffled that speak beautifully to this idea. The first is called “Strict Is Loving” and the second is a follow-up titled “What’s Too Strict? What’s Not Strict Enough?” Both are excellent and well worth a listen.

After reading Stephanie H. Murray’s relevant piece in The Atlantic, “Bring Back Communal Kid Discipline,” I asked my play group families if they could remember being “parented” in their youth by someone who wasn’t their own parent. The responses were thoughtful and layered—many recalled a teacher, neighbor, or family friend stepping into a more intimate caregiving stance. Sometimes it was welcome. Sometimes it was embarrassing. Sometimes it missed the mark. And sometimes, even if the child was hungry for the closeness, it made the child’s parent bristle.

Murray’s article captures a cultural tension many parents know well—that sense of being the only one responsible for their child’s behavior in public, while constantly trying to decode what everyone around them is silently tolerating:

“As in other aspects of parenthood, that closed-off approach gives parents more control but also puts them under more pressure. If you’re the sole arbiter of your child’s public behavior, you have to keep a pretty close eye on your kid at all times. That sense of responsibility can also produce anxiety: Rather than just parenting as I see fit, I often find myself guessing—and second-guessing—whether my kids are bothering people or violating some unspoken rule. (Is my daughter standing way too close to that guy? Does that shopkeeper mind that my kid is flipping through their magazines?) Amy Banta, a mom of three in Salt Lake City, told me that this is one reason she really appreciates it when other people step in to correct her kids. “I cannot anticipate your every boundary that my child might possibly cross,” she said. “You’re gonna have to help me out.”’

Parenting has become a verb, but it wasn’t always this way. It wasn’t until the 1970s that parenting even entered the mainstream as an action word. Before then, a parent was just something you were—not something you were expected to perform, optimize, and defend in every grocery store aisle.

Children aren’t simply raised anymore—they’re actively, intentionally parented. And honestly, I’m largely on board. I even launched a new course here in Portland to help expecting parents prepare for this very thing. But I also know that when the standards go up, so does the pressure to get everything “right.” That pressure softens, though, when we stop believing we’re solely responsible for our children’s behavior in every social setting—when we can trust that others will help us (and our children) out.

A few weeks ago, I went on a multi-day river adventure with eight adults and five children—I’m not the only one in my friend group with children anymore! On the second day of our trip, one of the dads who was solo parenting lost his voice. The result? A beautiful swell of communal caregiving. We all stepped in to help his son feel safe, loved, and socially successful. It reminded me just how possible—and powerful—it is to raise children together, even in small, imperfect moments.

So maybe my nudge here is a bit multifaceted:

If you tend toward people-pleasing or find yourself hesitant to upset your child, remember: boundaries are loving. Children don’t need us to be endlessly agreeable playmates. They need us to be their parents.

Maybe your friend group is ready for some open conversations about what discipline could look like—not punishment, but guidance. Subtle, sturdy boundary-setting that says: I care about you. I care how others experience you. I want a real relationship with you, so I’ll be honest about my needs, too.

And finally, maybe—just maybe—we can bring back a bit of public help when it comes to raising kids. It won’t be perfect. We’ll fumble. We’ll overstep. But if we can support children in kind, matter-of-fact, respectful ways—if we can help before the parent is unraveling—I suspect they’ll feel less judged, and more secure in our shared intention: to raise kind, secure, confident members of society, together.

If you want to know a bit more about how I suggest deploying this type of boundary setting in public, read on: