They whined: I can't wear these pants. My shirt
isn't warm. You have to warm these clothes
up.
As I began light-heartedly pulling the soppy clothes out of the
dryer so that my boys could have warm socks, I was suddenly
crippled by horrific visions of my sweet little sons at age thirty,
griping to their wives that they needed their clothes to be warmed
each morning because that's what their mother did for them.
Oh my god, I thought, I'm raising mama's boys. I had mysteriously grown apron strings, despite the fact that I don't cook.
Before my husband and I had children, it was assumed by all who knew us that when we became parents, I would be the bad cop. Call central casting for the disciplinarian, and I would be the first sent down. While I was a Type A, stick-to-the-rules, eat-what-you-kill kind of gal, my husband was incredibly laid back. Nothing seemed to bother him. Ever. Even I was certain that our future children would figure out quickly that when Mommy says "no," Daddy will say "yes." But it didn't turn out that way at all.
Within twenty-six months, I gave birth to two little boys, and transformed into a completely different person. I became extremely proficient at nurturing my sons and fairly impotent at disciplining them. To this day, I am the first to cave on punishments and the last to say no to double dessert.
Don't like what we are having for dinner? No problemo! I'll fix you something special.
You just earned a thirty-minute time out, mister! Okay, maybe fifteen minutes. Alright, six, but that is it!
I see that Lego set costs $49.99. How much do you have? Alright, I'll make up the extra $42.
Even worse, I actually enjoy doing things for the boys that they should clearly be doing for themselves. Somewhere deep inside, fixing snacks, making beds, packing schoolbags, combing hair, and picking out clothes makes me feel happy and motherly. Meanwhile, my husband, Mr. Mellow, has slipped easily into the role of authoritarian. He used to just roll his eyes at my indulgences, but lately he's been pushing back.
