A More Perfect Parent

Though I try very hard not to judge my husband’s fathering*, sometimes it can be damn near impossible. I do realize, of course, that I’m not a perfect parent. Hardly. I’m just more perfect, most of the time. For example, I would never have thought mowing the lawn in flip flops while wearing my second child in the Baby Bjorn was good judgment. But I never would have mowed the lawn at all, in all fairness. But, I digress.

My middle child has become a bit of a biter lately. Not like a “walk up to random people on the street and bite them” kind of way, but in a “my sister just hit me and she’s stronger than I am so I’ll just bite her” way. I think it’s resourceful, while Jeff finds it worrisome.

A few nights ago, after repeated biting reports from his sister, Jeff called Ben downstairs. Benjamin, he began, this biting thing is very serious. Unacceptable. We do not bite. Do you understand? Ben nodded solemnly.

{Enter the part where I admit judgment}

If you keep biting, Jeff continued, I will have no choice but to take you to the dentist and have him pull out all of your teeth. Am I making myself clear?

{Thud.}

Even after my jaw dropped and I threatened him with blogging this asinine move, my husband stood firm. I bet your readers would take my side, he even said. I respectfully disagreed. No way would you all think that his ridiculous empty threat was wise. It was ludicrous, right?

Right??

(*For the record, I adore my husband and think he is an excellent father. And I would have said this even if he didn’t request it.)