By: Angela Gillaspie © May 1997, 2000

It is strange how one little "off" thought can germinate in your head and blossom into some of the most outlandish and sometimes irrational thoughts ever. My husband and five-year-old daughter just left to go to the airport to meet some relatives. I chose to stay home with my two boys, (aged three years and nine months), since the flight was getting in late. Right as they were leaving, an awful thought suddenly crossed my mind, "That airport is really big and there are bad people at airports."

I lectured my daughter about staying with Daddy, holding Daddy's hand all the time, and to not go to the restroom alone. She nodded that she understood. Then I lectured my husband on holding her hand all the time, that there were bad people in airports, and to not let her go to the restroom alone. Giving a deep sigh, he assured me that he knew how to take care of her.

Why do Moms mistrust Dads so much? I know, I know, some of you out there in Reader Land trust your spouse, and this is a good thing. But deep down, don't you think that Mom can do it just a little bit better? Most Moms think so.

I took an informal poll from friends, relatives, and fellow kindergarten Moms and found proof that Moms do not trust Dads with the care taking of their children. Most men do not think for the future, and they seem to only think for the present. They are mechanical problem-solvers, and not emotional psychics like their female counterparts.

My husband will not change a diaper unless I trick him, then he accuses me of making him change the diaper only when it is a "stinky" one. This is not necessarily true. For example, my dear husband will observe me cooking supper with an infant on one hip, the phone in one ear, and me swiping at my three-year-old's face as he demonstrates his prowess with blowing snot bubbles.

My hubby will then offer to hold the baby for me so that I can de-slime my preschooler. As I exit the room, I'll say, "Um, why don't you change his diaper while you have him?" Next I hear: a deep sigh, followed by stomp, stomp, stomp into the nursery to change the diaper. The "stinky" diaper is just the luck of the draw.

One day as I was peering out my front window looking for the mail truck, I noticed two two-year-old children outside playing with their Dads. It was cold outside and I immediately could tell which child Mom dressed and which child was dressed by Dad. One child had on a zipped-up winter jacket with the hood up and tied around her face, plus mittens on her little hands. The other child had on a windbreaker that was not zipped up and was flapping from her elbows when she took off running. Which child do you think was dressed by Mom? Gee, I wonder.

Moms seem to know what the child's needs are often before the child knows he has a need. I know when my kids are hungry before they start nagging me for Pop Tarts. My husband, on the other hand, waits until the kids pull the potato chips out of the cupboard and leave a trail of nutty bar crumbs throughout the kitchen. Then, he lets them eat the chips and cookies for lunch. "What about the food groups? These are growing children!" I exclaim.

"Sure! Potato chips are made from potatoes aren't they? Potatoes are in the vegetable group, and nutty bars have peanuts in them. Peanuts are part of the grain group," he reasons with me. Now, I am the one sighing deeply and stomping out of the room.

One good point for my husband is that his tolerance level for noise is a lot higher than mine. I just cannot stand whining and/or crying, and my husband can carry on a conversation, watch television, and read the newspaper while all three kids are screaming, whining, or playing loudly. I actually break out in hives when this happens. How does he do it? I reckon that it is a male gene, the "Ignore" gene. Women have a similar gene, but it is the "pay-attention-to-every-little-detail-and-let-it-drive-you-nuts" gene.

We compliment each other -- my husband is the rock and I am the wind. He is steady and never changing. Most of the time I swirl around him in a flurry of emotions and activities. Occasionally though, I am calm and steady. My husband will teach the kids to take risks and be independent by not constantly hovering over them. He will let them squish mud between their toes, play with worms, and to learn how to get along with each other by fighting it out. I, on the other hand, will teach them manners and respect. I will not let them play with matches nor run with scissors; I will show them how to color in the lines, and most importantly, I will teach them how to belch silently without offending anyone.