When you're used to doing everything yourself, it's only natural that you start to believe that your way is the best way. It's not necessarily that it actually is the best way, but it sort of becomes that way by default.
It's like being a captain of a squadron. Or the executive chef in a kitchen. They may not always have the strongest plan of attack or the best method to prepare the ingredients, but they're in charge. So there's no arguing or questioning or politely suggesting another way of doing something. And in doing so, it makes getting the job done inordinately easier.
But as much as I run my home, it is oftentimes run like a squadron or a restaurant kitchen, with lots of more fun, fewer uniforms, and extremely less appetizing food, and as much as I hate to admit, I'm not the commander in chief.
I'm only acting as such while my husband is gone.
It should come as no surprise that I have a difficult time relinquishing some of my power when he returns. It's not that I have this desire to be in charge of everything. Or maybe I do and I just don't know it yet.
But when you're the boss all the time, it's hard to have another boss around, particularly one who does things differently that you do.
And it's just as challenging to help the kids adapt back to a two-boss household.
But it needs to happen, not just because I need a freaking break, but because the kids need to know that there are other ways of doing things. It's part of the beauty and privilege of growing up in a two-parent household, regardless of how often my husband is actually around to parent.
When I have a quiet moment to think about my days, I know that my husband might actually do things better than I do. And even if he doesn't, so what? Does it matter whether the kids are all in the bathtub at the exact same time? Should I care that he gives them dessert a little earlier than usual?
No. I shouldn't. And it's a waste of my time and energy to think otherwise.
Like a commenter boldly shared in so many words, it's not like he's dangling them upside down off our second-floor balcony. Or feeding them wood chips.
He's doing what I did and still do -- trying to do the best he can. Sometimes hitting the nail right on the head. And sometimes fumbling around aimlessly in the dark.
And for that, like any parent in the trenches, he deserves more credit than I've been giving him. Lord knows I've done my fair share of screwing up and he's never said a word.
So it's time for me to do the same for him -- not just for my kids. But for us.