When my 6-year-old daughter, Kimberly, begged me to buy her a hot-pink tutu, I found myself walking out of the department store wondering, Where on earth is she going to wear this frilly thing?

Apparently, everywhere. To the post office. To the park. To parties. Pretty much all the time. Then one morning before school, the hot-pink number became the center of an 8 a.m. tutu tug-of-war. Sleepy mom holding one end, determined daughter holding the other. In a flash, our rather peaceful morning turned into a bad episode of What Not to Wear. It was a clumsy, time-consuming dance of pull and tug while the clock was ticking.

For a solution, I turned to those three magic words: “Pick your battles.” Ice pops for breakfast? “Nope, not a chance.” Brush your teeth with mini marshmallows? “Um, no.” I’m not even sure how that would work. Wear a toilet-paper skirt from the Cottonelle collection? “Ha—denied!” But a froufrou tutu worn over gym clothes—I’m going to have to go with a “Yeah, sure.” Here’s why.

The most valuable skill parents can keep in their bag of discipline tricks is the ability to know when it’s really time to go to war. This comes down to understanding when to hold the front lines and when to bend the rules of engagement. So it was while standing in my daughter’s room, mid-tug, that the heavens opened up and I heard faint singing—sounding strikingly similar to Justin Bieber!

In this moment of clarity, my semi-caffeinated mind did the math. It was 8:45. The school bus comes rattling down the street at 9. I had a conference call at 9:30. If I nixed the tutu and Kimberly had a teary hissy fit, she was sure to miss the bus. I’d have to drive her to school, leaving me only five minutes to review my notes before my call. It raised the question “Do you want to be right—or happy?” Actually, the question was more like “Do you want to be right or sound like an unprepared buffoon on a conference call?” I decided to allow Kimberly to wear what she wanted. So mid-tug-of-tulle, I dropped my end and forfeited. A huge smile on her face, my daughter left the house looking like a bad Bananarama album cover.

Now, choosing your battles doesn’t mean you fold your hand of cards on every request. Indeed, you’ve got to know when to hold ’em. I’ve learned to zero in on the issues that I’m willing to fight the good fight for.
I don’t compromise on anything involving safety or health. Walk across a busy street without holding hands? No way. Skip washing hands before dinner? Nope. But wear a ballerina costume rather than clothing to school—no real harm. My fashion-forward daughter may have won the tutu battle, but it’s this busy working mom who usually wins the war. No go, marshmallow. Winner, winner, chicken dinner.