Me And My Boys...

Me and my Boys…

I love my kids.  My wife and I have two boys, one just turned sixteen (Michael), and the other will be fourteen in April (Dylan).  I love these guys.  They can be a barrel of fun to goof around with and an exasperating challenge to deal with at the same time.  Sometimes, we do all of this on purpose.

Laundry day.  Actually, we do laundry just about every day of the week, but that’s beside the point.  Anyways, when folding laundry, one of the things that bugs my wife and I a lot is that we have to turn the boys’ clothes right side out before we fold them.  I know, I know—it’s not that big a deal, but it also wouldn’t be that big a deal for our sons to just take the care to make sure their clothes are right side out before they go into the laundry.  I decide to mention this to the boys, and I get this sort of “okay” eyeroll.  I can tell they’re not taking it seriously, so I tell them that any piece of laundry that comes out of the dryer inside out will be folded inside out.  I get another “okay” eyeroll.  I can already see how this is going to go, or at least, that’s what I think. 

Laundry day again, more clothes inside out.  Screw it!  I fold their clothes inside out and throw it on their stack.  I warned them, and I must follow through.  The laundry is finished, and I don’t think anything about it till the next morning when Dylan comes downstairs wearing his shirt inside out.  Then, Michael comes from his room, also wearing his shirt inside out.  Trust me, they’re not stupid.  They’re doing this on purpose. 

Dylan sits across from me at the table, and Michael beside me.  I look at them both, back and forth for the better part of a minute before Dylan says, “What?”

“Are you two seriously going to wear your shirts like that to school?”

“Guess so.”

“Turn them right side out.”

“Why?”

“Because…”

“Maybe we can start a trend, dad.  Maybe wearing shirts inside out is going to be the new thing, and we will be where it begins?” Michael says.

“Don’t hold us back, dad,” Dylan adds.

It’s early, and I don’t have time to argue with them.  My boys are stubborn, and I suppose they get it honestly.  I use reason, or at least what I call reason.  It’s cold out that day, and they will probably be wearing their jackets all day, no one in school will probably even notice, so I let it be.  As it turns out, they apparently turned their shirts right side out in the restroom at school—they were both wearing their shirts correctly when we picked them up from school that day.  For the moment, I believe that I’ve won. 

Laundry day again.  My wife and I were folding a load of shirts and found another sign of my victory as all the shirts in that load were right side out (okay, there was one inside out, but it was mine, and that doesn’t count).  Progress!  An hour or so later, we folded a load of jeans.  Have you ever had a moment where you were on top of the world, and then suddenly the rug was pulled out from under you?  On that day, I was standing on that very rug.  Every pair of our sons’ pants that we pulled from the load had one leg inside out, and the other leg right side out.  Every. Single. One. 

My wife looked at me, and I know that she could see the gears grinding in my mind. 

“What’re you going to do now?” my wife asked me.

I look at the pants.  This is obviously done on purpose.  If it were just one pair of pants, I’d call it an accident—but every pair of pants in that load that belonged to one of our boys—they had taken extra care to make sure that all of their pants were turned half in half out.  They was trying to outsmart me—get one over on their old man.  I get that, and in a way, I enjoyed that.  Like I said, my boys and I have fun.  So, how do I respond to this?  I turn the pants completely inside out and fold them.  I go a step further, and I pull their pockets inside out too.

“What are doing?” my wife laughs.

“Justice.”

The next morning the boys come into the kitchen and drop themselves into seats at the table.  They’re both wearing their pants right side out.  I say nothing.  Dylan sits across from me and he shakes his head.

“What?” I say.

“Dad, it would have been just as easy for you to turn the pants right side out.”

“I know.  It would have been just as easy for you to turn them right side out when you took them off too. 

“Whatever,” with his famous eyeroll as he pours his cereal.

“Besides, I was being nice.”

“How?”

“I could have folded them as they were, but I didn’t want you to hurt yourself trying to put them on with only one leg inside out.”

Dylan looks at me for a moment.  He’s thinking, and I soon realize that he’s taken my words as a challenge.    

“I could do it.”

“What?”

Dylan gets up from this chair and heads to his room.  I turn and look at Michael.

“Well?” I said.

“I have a girlfriend.  I’m not doing that.”

These boys.  They’re so funny to watch, and so frustrating at the same time.  All I can say is that if you have kids, love the hell out of them, and never get too angry in front of them.  Watching them grow up is an amazing thing.  I do hope, and I know, that they will both one day be much smarter than me, and I will have to accept that.  But so long as we’re folding their laundry, mom and dad rule this house.