THIS is the best sort of upbringing for children," I wrote on a postcard to my sister, who has just given birth to her first baby.

The card showed a 19th century photograph of a boy, no more than eight, stoking the furnace in a grimy workshop, surrounded by men beavering away along a production line.

The image had sparked an argument with my husband. He has begun insisting that our children do more around the house. That's fine by me. I welcome their efforts in picking things up off the floor and tidying their rooms.

But he expects more. He believes that they should make their beds, brush their own teeth, run their own baths and get their own breakfast.

I can see his point with the bed-making and teeth-brushing. Aged eight and six, my daughters are capable of both, but they don't make a good job of either. Tucking sheets around a mattress is hard enough for me as an adult, and children never, despite their efforts, brush their teeth as well as a parent (I read that parents should do it until the child is 11).

As for baths and breakfast -- for young children those tasks are fraught with hazards. But my husband sees things differently. He went to boarding school and -- if what he says is true -- he was washing and ironing his clothes by the time he was five, and cooking Sunday lunch at seven.

It is not easy, knowing when to let go. I want my children to be self-reliant but not too soon. I enjoy doing things for them and like the fact that they depend upon me. My mother made my bed until I was -- I'm embarrassed to admit -- well into my teens. I'd let her do it today if she was on hand -- she makes a far better job of it.

She washed, ironed and put away our clothes and always had our tea ready when we came home from school. Perhaps it was bad for me. When I went away to college aged 19 I was unable to cook anything other than tinned spaghetti on toast.

But I picked it up quickly and in no time at all graduated to spaghetti bolognese with real mince and vegetables (my repertoire has not expanded in the two decades since then).

My mother's willingness to cook for the family every day might have stunted my growth in the culinary department, but it was much appreciated.

My dad is in the same boat, having had the pleasure of her cooking every meal for more than 40 years. In his late sixties, she left him home alone last week while she visited my sister in London. She left huge pans of stew and lots of fruit pies. But he tackled the custard on his own, and was chuffed to bits when he got it right. "It was as good as your mother's," he said with glee.

It would do him good to learn how to cook a few meals himself, in case my mum goes away again. But she enjoys catering for him, as she did for us.

Everyone is reliant upon someone for something. My husband will ferociously deny depending upon me for anything -- "I don't ask anything from anyone" is a favourite phrase -- but he does like me to lay out the children's clothes ready for the morning, as well as sort out bills and book family holidays.

And I rely upon him to take potato peelings to the compost bin once a fortnight.

Our daughters depend upon us for a lot. I know there are many families where children are left to their own devices and who would be able to cook a Sunday roast aged six. Or, worse, who are sent away to school where they bring themselves up.

There will not come a day when I will stop providing for my children. And when I'm old and frail and unable to clean my false teeth I'll expect them to do the same for me.