About a month ago, my spouse did the cutest thing. I don’t remember the context, but he was annoyed at us for something, and he forcefully informed us that he was the Mother F…… man of the house. (Insert the F word that rhymes with “trucking” because God forbid I cuss while I write.) Anyway, his panties were certainly in a twist as he threw a tantrum that rivaled a petulant toddler, so naturally the boys and I burst out laughing. He didn’t join in our circle of hysterics. However, he eventually found the humor that he inflicted that day.
Because I respect the status of the M.O.T.H. (man of the house) , I implement it in various situations. For example, yesterday I had asked him to go get the girls some dog food. They were completely out and I had mentioned the need the day before, but apparently, the M.O.T.H. wasn’t available to listen. He was confused as to why I couldn’t go and get the food, but then I reminded him that he is the M.O.T.H., and I can’t possibly lift the large bag of food. That I needed a big strong man to get it for me. I could barely keep a straight face. Don’t worry, he knew that I was manipulating the situation and like the good sport he is, he went and got the dog food. Mission accomplished.
I have my own acronym – W.H.I.C.H. (woman habitually in charge). I don’t necessarily want to be in charge, it just seems to happen. Okay, I might like it, but only when they actually do what I tell them. Otherwise, it is exhausting. Do you know what the reality is? My sense of leadership is compromised by our four-legged family members. They remind us that our control is an illusion. They are the puppet masters. Well played, furry family members, well played.
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