Like mother, like son

When you look at my son Josh, it’s easy to see where he gets most of his physical features. His skinny little bird legs come from Grandpa Rich. His big ears come from Grandpa Dave. And his smile comes from Dad.

Good looks, as they say, run in the family.

Sure, he looks a bit like me, too – maybe a little around the eyes and the nose. It’s harder to pinpoint those matching physical traits when you’re looking at a mother and her son instead of a mother and a daughter.

But when it comes to temperament, we’re almost identical. Josh and I both have a bit of a stubborn, independent side. We both like to do what we want, when we want – and we’re both willing to fight every battle. Couple that with the fact that he’s still a kid testing his boundaries, and we’ve got the potential to butt heads. Not surprising, we occasionally do – but not on the big things, like baths or bedtime. No, it’s the little every day things that cause us the most problems.

When he was younger, Josh would get mad when I wouldn’t let him eat cookies for dinner or take every single tiny tractor he owns with him on a trip to the grocery store. These days, we butt heads about the amount of time he can watch cartoons or play Minecraft on his Kindle. Depending on the situation, one of us isn’t happy.

Fortunately (for me), a good majority of the time, Josh will eventually back down and realize that he’s not going to get his way. But every now and then, he doesn’t. That’s when he’ll cross his arms in front of his chest and sulk. Every now and then he’ll throw in an eye roll for good measure. When I remind him that a crappy attitude won’t get him anywhere, he’ll stomp off.

Every now and then, Josh needs to tell his side of the story to Dad. My husband, the ever-patient mediator, calmly explains to Josh that he needs to shape up because whatever we say goes.

But this game of tattletale, is unfortunately, not just something Josh plays. Just because I’m the mom doesn’t mean I’m always more mature.

“Told you so,” I sometimes retort back.

That’s when my husband will groan and wonder (sometimes out loud) how he became the only parent in the house. With that, I’m whisked back to adulthood.

And I’m also reminded that while Josh and I might not have the same color of hair, we’re more alike than our physical characteristics suggest.

Don’t argue with me on that one. I’m always right, you know.