Hills Worth Dying On (And The 48-Hour Rule)

I’ve been a parent for five years now. And while I remember a lot—first steps, sleepy cuddles, wild tantrums—I’m amazed by how much I’ve forgotten. All the little standoffs about shoes, teeth, peas, coats… they’ve just vanished. Gone from memory like they never mattered.

And that got me thinking.

I’m definitely one of those fathers. The kind who puts a lot of emotional energy into everything. A “recovering perfectionist,” if I’m honest. I’ve spent years making sure “the standard is maintained”—that things were done right, that my kids were learning properly, that I was showing up well. But recently, I’ve started to understand something uncomfortable: A lot of that wasn’t really about their well-being. It was about me.

My need to feel like I was nailing it.

My fear of looking chaotic.

My attachment to doing it all “right.”

There’s a balance, of course. Children do need structure, safety, and boundaries. But I’ve come to believe they don’t need my ego in the mix while they get it. So here’s the rule I’ve started living by (or at least trying to):

If I won’t remember this in 48 hours, it probably isn’t worth getting upset about.

If I will remember it—if it’s about something deeper, like respect or safety or the way we treat each other when we’re stretched—then yeah, that’s worth slowing down for.

That’s worth finding my calm voice.

That’s worth standing firm.

But if it’s just about whether socks are on, or a cup gets knocked over, or bedtime is five minutes late… Maybe I can let it go. Maybe I can find a playful way through that doesn’t involve raising my voice or tightening my grip.

I’ve spent a long time trying to control every detail. But now I’m more interested in choosing my moments. Letting the small stuff pass. Saving my strength—and theirs—for the things that really shape who we are.

And here’s the thing: as I’ve started experimenting with this, I’ve noticed they’re actually more likely to listen to me. Because I’m not always on their case, when I do speak up, they know it matters. It’s not just more noise—it means something. And that’s the kind of presence I want to build.