I do homework every single day of my damn life, okay? I do the fractions, the long division, the cups of cocoa, the snacks, the calling-the-friend-cause-we-forgot-the-book, the tears. Homework is the boys responsibility, totally, but I am on call to help at anytime. I am pretty capable.
When DADDY is around, suddenly I am not needed. I hear a boy sigh, and steups, and he gets up with his book.
"What's up, honey?" I ask, looking up from my ironing.
"Multiplying fractions. It's okay, I'll ask Dad. HE understands these things."
"He's outside. Can I help?"
"No, no. Dad is better at this MATH stuff."
Hello? HELLO? Am I not the one who explained all those LCM thingies to you?? I can do math too, you know! And tomorrow, when DAD isn't here, you will be running to me with that same math book, ya little wretch!!!
There is a testosterone club in my house. Part of me gets all feminist, but the other part says "Boy, my car could use a wash!" and they all run out and wash the little lady's car with their DADDY, their hero, the #1 man, the best daddy in the whole world. They talk non-stop about cars, racing, and other manly things. They are only my boys when daddy's not here.
At least the cat is still talking to me.