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Why We Stopped Rewarding Our Kids With Treats for Good Behavior

For a long time, I used food as a shortcut. If the children packed away their toys, sat quietly through an appointment, or made it through a difficult shopping trip without a meltdown, I would offer something sweet. Sometimes it was a lolly from the checkout, sometimes an ice block after school, and sometimes a promise of takeaway chips if everyone could just cooperate for another ten minutes.

It felt harmless because treats are part of ordinary family life. In Australia, children encounter them everywhere: at the Woolworths checkout, after Saturday sport, at birthday parties, in the school canteen, and in the biscuit tin when visitors arrive. Food is tied to celebration, comfort and connection, so offering it as a reward can seem warm and natural rather than deliberate or concerning.

The problem was not one Freddo Frog or a handful of Allen’s lollies. The problem was the pattern we were creating. Good behaviour began to feel like a transaction, and ordinary responsibilities became opportunities to negotiate. “What do I get?” was often the first response to a request, while the actual satisfaction of helping, persevering or repairing a mistake seemed to disappear.

We eventually decided to stop rewarding our kids with treats for behaving well. It was not a dramatic household overhaul, and we did not ban dessert or turn every snack into a lesson. We simply began separating food from compliance and looking for healthier ways to recognise effort, responsibility and kindness.

The reward system was changing the meaning of behaviour

When a child receives a treat for completing a task, the treat can quickly become the point of the task. Tidying the playroom is no longer something that helps the family or makes the room pleasant; it becomes a job worth doing only if there is a promised chocolate at the end. This is especially noticeable when the reward disappears. Suddenly, the same child who eagerly helped yesterday has no interest in helping today.

We saw this with small routines first. Brushing teeth, putting shoes away and getting ready for school became bargaining opportunities. If we offered a reward, cooperation was immediate. If we did not, there was resistance. The system had trained everyone, including us, to believe that every request needed an incentive attached to it.

Children still need encouragement, boundaries and plenty of positive attention. However, there is a difference between noticing good choices and purchasing them. Saying, “You kept trying even though that puzzle was frustrating,” draws attention to persistence. Saying, “You kept trying, so you can have a biscuit,” shifts the focus to the prize.

That distinction mattered in our home. We wanted our children to develop a sense of responsibility that could travel with them into classrooms, friendships, workplaces and future family life. A reward chart might produce short-term compliance, but it could not teach them why their actions mattered.

Food works better when it is not tied to obedience

Using sweets as a behaviour reward can make certain foods seem unusually powerful. The more often a child hears that chocolate is earned, the more exciting and emotionally loaded it can become. Everyday foods may start to feel like obligations, while the “special” food becomes the prize worth working for.

We were also uncomfortable with the possibility of teaching our children to eat in response to approval rather than hunger, enjoyment or social connection. Many adults already have complicated relationships with food. We did not want to add another layer by making dessert the symbol of being good, successful or worthy of praise.

This does not mean our family stopped eating birthday cake, hot chips after footy training or lamingtons at a school fundraiser. Food can be joyful, generous and culturally meaningful. An Australian childhood includes icy poles on warm afternoons, fairy bread at parties and the occasional Tim Tam with a cup of tea. The change was about removing the moral label, not removing pleasure.

We also became more careful with language. Instead of calling food a “treat” for good behaviour, we might say that we are having dessert because it is Friday night, celebrating a birthday, welcoming friends or simply enjoying something together. That small change helped us keep food in its proper place: part of family life, rather than payment for obedience.

We learned to praise effort without making a performance of it

Positive reinforcement still has an important role in parenting. Children need to know that their efforts are seen, particularly when they are learning emotional regulation, contributing to household life or trying something difficult. Our goal was never to become emotionally distant or pretend that all behaviour was equally acceptable.

We began using specific words rather than general approval. “You noticed your sister was upset and brought her the toy she wanted” is more meaningful than “Good girl.” “You put your lunchbox in the sink without being reminded” helps a child recognise the action itself. “You were angry, but you used words instead of hitting” reinforces a skill that can be practised again.

Sometimes the best response was simply shared satisfaction. We smiled, gave a hug, offered a high five or paused to admire a carefully completed drawing. We talked about how a calm morning helped everyone get out the door on time. We noticed when the children solved a problem together. These moments were free, immediate and connected to what had actually happened.

There was also room for natural consequences. If someone left their swimmers at home, they had to manage that problem. If toys were not packed away, they might not be available the next day. This was different from punishment and different from bribery. The children were learning that choices affect the household, while still knowing they were loved when they got things wrong.

Connection became more motivating than prizes

Many behaviour problems were really connection problems in disguise. A child who was tired, hungry, overstimulated or feeling overlooked did not always need another sticker chart. Sometimes they needed a cuddle, a snack at the regular time, a quiet corner or ten minutes of undivided attention.

This was particularly clear during the after-school rush. Between school pickup, homework, swimming lessons and dinner, I was often issuing instructions at speed. The children were expected to transition from one activity to the next while I answered messages and tried to get food on the table. Offering a lolly could make the moment easier, but it did not address the underlying need for calm and connection.

We started building more predictable rhythms into the day. There was a reliable afternoon snack, a few minutes to decompress after school and clearer expectations before outings. If we were heading to a busy shopping centre in Brisbane or Melbourne, I explained the plan before walking through the doors. We discussed what we needed to buy, how we would stay together and what would happen if someone became overwhelmed.

The children did not become perfectly cooperative. No parenting strategy can remove tiredness, sibling conflict or public meltdowns. But our responses became less transactional. We could comfort a child without promising a treat, hold a boundary without threatening to remove dessert, and reconnect after a difficult moment without pretending the behaviour was acceptable.

This shift also influenced the way we approached faith at home. We wanted spiritual formation to feel relational rather than like another system of points and prizes. Reading together at bedtime became an opportunity to slow down, wonder and talk about compassion. We often reach for our faith-based bedtime books when we want simple stories that open those conversations naturally.

The household became calmer when every task was not negotiable

Removing edible rewards did not produce instant peace. In fact, there was an adjustment period when the children tested the new boundary. They asked for treats, complained that something was unfair and reminded us of the old arrangement. We had to stay consistent without making the change sound like a punishment.

A simple response helped: “We do not give lollies for putting shoes away. Shoes still need to be put away, and we can have something sweet at an appropriate time.” We did not enter a long debate. The more explanation we offered, the more the conversation became another negotiation.

We also made expectations visible. A morning routine on the fridge helped the children see what needed to happen before school. A basket near the door gave bags and hats a home. In the kitchen, accessible fruit, yoghurt and leftovers made it easier to offer food according to hunger rather than behaviour. Practical changes reduced the number of moments when we relied on rewards because we were rushing.

Marriage mattered here too. Parenting is much harder when two adults are sending different messages. My husband and I had to talk about what we were trying to teach, especially when one of us was exhausted and tempted to promise anything for a quiet car ride. Our reflections connected with what I wrote about marriage lessons: family habits are shaped by the small agreements adults make behind the scenes.

We still make exceptions for real life. A long flight, a hospital visit or a rare emergency may call for flexibility. Parenting is not a laboratory, and a packet of crackers at the airport is not a moral failure. The difference is whether food is being used deliberately as a bargaining chip or simply offered because a child is hungry and the day has become unusually demanding.

What we use instead of edible rewards

Our alternatives are deliberately ordinary. We do not want to create a new system in which children collect prizes for every decent choice. The purpose is to build an atmosphere where contribution, kindness and perseverance are expected, noticed and supported.

There are times when a non-food privilege is useful, especially for a child working towards a larger goal. Choosing a weekend activity, helping cook dinner or picking the next library book can feel encouraging without suggesting that love, approval or nourishment must be earned. We try to keep these moments occasional and connected to family participation instead of turning them into a constant points economy.

We also remind ourselves that children are allowed to be motivated by different things at different ages. A preschooler may need a visual routine and close help. A primary-school child may respond to responsibility and choice. A teenager may care more about trust and independence. The answer is not to find the perfect reward, but to understand what support makes the desired behaviour possible.

For families who want to make a similar change, gradual steps are enough. Choose one routine, explain the new expectation simply and prepare for a few complaints. Keep offering warmth, structure and food without attaching moral value to any of it. When the household eventually stops waiting for a prize after every good decision, children have more room to notice the deeper rewards: capability, belonging, contribution and the quiet confidence that comes from doing what needs to be done. If you would like to keep up with more family reflections and everyday home life, you can find me here.