Happy Daddy Pants Day

I wear the daddy pants in my house. This is no easy task with three teenage boys to raise. Creativity is the key when it comes to getting their cooperation.

As teenagers, Pete, Repete and Devilspawn are perfectly capable of fending for themselves when it comes to meals, so the promise of me cooking dinner is not a very effective incentive when it comes to getting them to make sure I have a clean kitchen in which to cook.

Like any good union chick, I knew that when faced with unacceptable working conditions, strike action is in order. I cleaned my kitchen (for me), but I didn't respond to any of the boy's requests.

My strike lasted less than 24 hours. I came home to a clean kitchen and a very tidy livingroom.

Bickering in the car is dealt with by me singing "Jesus Loves Me" at the top of my lungs and horribly off key. Ned is my other antibickering device. I just pull down his shorts and stick him to the window as we drive. Teenage boys really dislike having a doll with his penis exposed attached to the window of the vehicle in which they are travelling.

Computers don't work when the keyboard and mouse have been removed and taken to work with the parental unit.

Oh, and tackling Devilspawn and tickling him into submission works occasionally and having him say I'm a little tree hugger afterward is just an added bonus.

Being a two in one parent was not part of the plan, but it's infinitely better than being the hole in one parent.

Happy Daddy Pants Day.