Genius, or future therapy session?

This whole parenting thing is a lot harder than any of the books told me.

I still wish my children came with instruction manuals when they were born. I am also still uncertain as to why they do certain things when they make absolutely no sense whatsoever and know performing said actions would get them into trouble.

Then again, I also constantly wonder about the same things with my husband, and he’s a wee bit older than the kids. And he’s only been home from Iraq three weeks now.

I remember with a fond smile the first fight we had when he got home. I truly cannot recall what it was about, but he’d been home about a week and I remember thinking things were almost back to normal because we were able to actually quarrel.

We try to make it a point to never argue in front of the kids, partly because it can scare them, but mostly because I don’t want to give them any pointers or tips when they argue with each other. Our 3-year old already looks at his daddy pointedly when told to do something he has no desire to do and states in a shrill voice, “No thank you, for the thousandth time, and please don’t ask me again.”

Having recognized this well over a month ago as a montage of the sort of statements I make to him, I tend to ignore his preschool diatribe, much to his chagrin. But the first time his daddy heard him say it my husband almost fell over laughing.

“Oh my gosh,” my loving husband laughed hysterically. “He sounds just like you.”

Since our precious adorable son was delivering this tirade at the very top of his piercing little voice and our windows were shaking with the force of his displeasure, this statement did not endear my husband to me.

Come to think of it, I just recalled what our first fight was about.

I’ve been what amounts to a single parent for over a year now and suddenly having a partner back in my life with a completely different set of parenting rules and a much relaxed view on discipline takes some getting used to.

My husband thinks nothing about letting the kids stay in their pajamas until well after noon, eating breakfast and lunch in his PJs and sometimes going outside in them. He has been known to let days go by without a hairbrush in sight. The children, to my dismay, seem to think this is a good idea and now protest vehemently when I get them dressed before lunch and have the audacity to brush their hair.

This is mostly a result of my husband having had complete control of every aspect of their lives for the week before Christmas when I was bedridden for eight days. On day six, the doctor had said I might get up for a bit and walk as long as I took it easy.

So, when my husband ran to the store with all the kids in tow and the house was eerily silent, I made my way from our second story bedroom to downstairs.

I took one look at the living room, kitchen and dining area and immediately went back upstairs and to bed. When my husband came home later, he asked if I wanted to try to move downstairs. He still doesn’t understand why I whimpered and covered my face with my pillow.

Did I mention my husband’s housekeeping skills are as varied from mine as our parenting skills?

To give him credit, my spouse admitted freely and cheerfully to anyone who would listen that he could not understand how I managed to do what I did for the 14 months he was gone. Were it not for friends from church bringing us dinner each night of my confinement, I think we would have been frequent users of diner cards from McDonald’s.

When my daughter got a doll for Christmas that cried as loudly as she did — and would not stop — she immediately brought it over to her father to fix. When he could do nothing to stop its squeals, she calmly, gently and methodically started whacking her new plush baby in the face with a wooden spoon.

I was appalled and had a spontaneous nightmarish vision of her future parenting skills. My husband, on the other hand, proudly discussed her genius when it came to her problem solving proficiency.

Like I said, I really wish children came with instruction manuals. And husbands too.

Tiffany Horvath is the mother of two and the stepmother of one. Her husband, Drew, is home from service in Iraq. She writes every Sunday abut life at home for the wife of a deployed soldier.