Back in the seventies and eighties, when I was in school, kids did their own homework and parents watched the evening news while enjoying adult conversation, a cocktail and a bowl of dry roasted peanuts. As a teen I never dreamed of asking my parents to help me make a paper mache' volcano that actually erupted. Instead, I made projects the old-fashioned way: with supplies found around the house or yard. We didn't have a craft drawer in our kitchen or a supply of Modge Podge in the cupboard. We didn't have 12 cans of metalic spray paint or flexible tubing in the garage. We had hangers, newspapers, and imagination. In short, we just made it work.

That was then, this is now. As a parent, I have found to my horror that these days, parents are considered something like co-students. It took me several years of Back to School Night before I caught on. At first, I just thought that the science projects on display indicated that the students at our school were extraordinarily gifted. "I can't believe that a child made this Composter and Garden Fertilizer from his Erector set!" They didn't.

As a traditionalist, I refused to help my kids. For years they suffered under my Sink or Swim regime. Last year, I did concede that there was a pressing need for poster board in our home. I bought it in bulk. Unfortunately, instead of using it for school, my girls started hosting lemonade stands with lovely handmade advertisements. My favorite was when their sign read "Ice Cold Water." They made $11.75. I applauded their Yankee ingenuity.

As a longtime parent to a lot of kids, I agree with Solomon in the Bible. There really is "nothing new under the sun." Life with my fifth 5th grader is like watching the movie Groundhog Day. It's the one where Bill Murray is forced to relive the same day, over and over again. Been there, done that. Ask me anything. Mountain ranges in the United States? Check. Spelling Words? Yawn. Life cycle of a butterfly? Snore. Now I'm not in any way implying that I am Smarter than a Fifth Grader. I'm just saying that this is my SIXTH TIME through the grade. I ought to know my way around by now.

Now, my high school students are way too cool to ask for my help, or even pause for a second to listen to my sage advice. Yet having seen some Killer Projects in my day, I am compelled to make some suggestions. Oddly, they are unimpressed. In fact, they run for the hills when they have a project involving sales or marketing. With my background in advertising, I can't let an opportunity like that pass. If they want to run for Student Government, I want to come up with the world's best slogans. These children of mine reject all my awesome ideas. "But I won a Clio for Excellence in Advertising!" I say, as I chase them around with my list of clever headlines.

To help, or not to help? That is the question. Clearly by the time our kids are teens, they should be doing most things independently. My goal is that by age 18 they can balance a checking account, pre-treat laundry stains and complete all of their own schoolwork. Yet the competitive nature of college admission, coupled with a big dose of "What is everyone else doing?" makes even the most reluctant parent uneasy. In my home the question "Have you finished your homework?" is repeated so often that I'm thinking of recording it on microchip so I can avoid straining my voice. When my kids say yes, I follow that up with the clincher: "Have you done everything you can to be a successful student today?" This question rarely garners a yes response; instead the teens grit their teeth and storm to their rooms to listen to their iPods.

Recently Julia, my gorgeous 5th grader, had a volcano project assigned. Guys, I couldn't help myself. I bought tissue paper, got out the Modge Podge, and jumped right in. It's going to actually explode when yeast is added to a water bottle filled with peroxide and get this: the foam will be red! We used the paint that is stored in the craft drawer in the kitchen. I guess I've become a softie in my old age. I hope we, er, I mean SHE, gets an A.