My life is my kids. I am with them all day long. I am the master of researching. I read parenting books like they’re candy. I know what mothering camps I belong in, and I am passionate. I’m the one who goes to the doctors appointments, drives the kids to tae kwon do, and knows what they should be doing for school. We have routines to our days, and conducting my brood of 6 oftentimes feels like I’m conducting an orchestra that is constantly in tuning mode.
My husband is self-employed, and will often come home for an hour if he has the time. I can get my highly distractible kid finally down and working on writing his report, when my husband will pop his head in and ask if he can borrow him to mow the lawn for a little bit, to which my son will enthusiastically jump up and run out of the house. He will sneak them food that he’s snacking on before supper. It can completely mess up the flow as a child drops their chore and runs to his lap for a story. We are not always on the same page on a lot of issues, from discipline, bedtimes, or even chores. He works hard to support our family, writes me love notes, is a godly man, and he is a loving and involved Dad.
But he’s not the “professional” parent. He has another job. Oftentimes I discount his opinion because I know he doesn’t understand the “why,” hasn’t done the research, or I assume his opinion isn’t as well thought out or agonized over as mine is. He’s not with the kids day in and day out like I am. He doesn’t always see the consequences.
And in the messy, stressed out, rushed moments, I erupt and treat him like he’s stupid. He’s far from stupid.