“Do your boys get along?” another mother asked me this morning, making small talk in the school lobby after dropoff.
I had to think for a moment. How to answer that? “No” was hardly an adequate response. What I needed to express was that my boys do the most opposite thing of getting along that has ever been known. The opposite-est, as Seamus would explain.
“They’re like a dog and a rooster,” I said finally. Bingo! That was it.
She didn’t follow.
“If I had a dog and a rooster,” I explained, “I wouldn’t have the expectation that I could put them in the same enclosed space. They’re a dog and a rooster. They’re going to go to town on each other. That’s how they’re made. And yet day after day, I think that I can have my boys play in the same room, and day after day, I’m surprised when someone is bleeding five minutes later. No, my boys do NOT get along. The problem is that I have the expectation that they ever will. I need to remember: I have a dog and a rooster.”
The other mother was horrified.
I think she has daughters.
Can anyone out there relate?