T his is going to be our summer,” I told my friend conspiratorially. We were talking yesterday about teaching our children to do for themselves, to help out around the house wherever a need has been identified—or when Mommy looks like she’s sweating through her shirt for the second time that day from all of her repetitive bustling, whichever. When my friend and I spoke, I was feeling especially optimistic. Marcel had just emptied the dishwasher! Peaches put capers and olives into the chicken dish we’d had for dinner! Roy had made Father’s Day pancakes for the dad who lives next door (not his own, but whatever)! We had embarked upon the golden road toward self-sufficiency, The Three and me. There would be no…