Every night my boys ask for a story. Sometimes I read to them and sometimes I prefer to make up my own stories. Most of the time I want my stories to have some sort of moral significance. Last night as I walked into their bedroom, wading through the toys, clothing, and linens to their beds I had a lot of time to think of one. Here it is:
Once upon a time there was a mom. She was a great mom. She was loving and kind a patient. She doted on her boys as if it were her only pleasure. She cooked fabulous meals, cleaned the house from top to bottom, and her laundry looked as though it had come from the dry cleaner. She read stories, made beautiful crafts, and baked as if it were the year 1820.
The boys ever had to worry about cleaning up after themselves or remembering where they had put something or even making their own lunch from time to time. She did it all. She was truly the perfect mother.
One day, both boys found themselves beautiful and sweet women to marry. They had grown to be loving, kind, and gentle men. Their wives were smitten with them. Their first years of marriage were glorious! Soon enough they were blessed with children. But one day these women seemed to change. They weren't perfect like the boys' mother. They expected the boys to do things. Things like cooking, cleaning, laundry, and helping with the children. The boys could not understand what was wrong with their wives. These women were certainly not perfect like their mother. They told them so. The next day their wives left them.
The end.
The Buddies looked at me with blank stares. So I asked them this question;
"Do you want to be happily married one day?"
They did.
"Then I suppose you're glad I am not the perfect mother. Clean your room."
The end.
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