A father’s job is unique.

If parents had job descriptions mine would read: organize bills, playmates, laundry, meals, laundry, carpool, laundry, snacks, outings and shopping, and laundry.

The only thing on my husband’s description would be the word "fun" written in big red letters along the top. Although he is a selfless caregiver and provider, our children think of him more as a combination of a jungle gym and bozo and clown.

Our parenting styles compliment each other. His style is a nonstop adventure where no one has to worry about washing their hands, eating vegetables, or getting cavities. My style is similar to Mussolini. I’m too busy worrying to be fun. Besides, every time I try, I am constantly outdone by my husband.

I bought my children bubble gum flavored toothpaste and I taught them how to brush their teeth in tiny circles so they wouldn’t get cavities. They thought it was neat until my husband taught them how to rinse by spitting out water between their two front teeth like a fountain.

I took the children on a walk in the woods and, after two hours, I managed to corral a slow ladybug into my son’s insect cage. I was "cool" until their father came home, spent two minutes in the backyard, and captured a beetle the size of a Chihuahua.

I try to tell myself I am a good parent even if my husband does things I can’t do. I can make sure my children are safe, warm, and dry. I’ll stand in line for five hours so the children can see Santa at the mall or be first in line to see the latest Disney movie. But I can’t wire the VCR so my children can watch their favorite video.

I can carry my children in my arms when they are tired, tuck them into bed, and kiss them goodnight. But I can’t flip them upside down so they can walk on the ceiling or prop them on my shoulders so they can see the moths flying inside of the light fixture.

I can take them to doctor appointments, scout meetings, or field trips to the aquarium, but I’ll never go into the wilderness, skewer a worm on a hook, reel in a fish, and cook it over an open flame on a piece of tin foil.

I’ll even sit in the first row of every Little League game and cheer until my throat is sore and my tonsils are raw, but I’ll never teach my son how to hit a home run or slide into first base.

As a mother I can do a lot of things for my children, but no matter how hard I try--I can never be their father.

母亲永远成不了父亲

当爸是件无人能替代的活儿。

如果为人父母有职务简述的话，我的“职务简述”将会包括如下内容：管理账单和孩子们的玩耍同伴、洗衣、做饭、洗衣、安排与人合伙用车、洗衣、准备小吃、安排短途旅游、购物、洗衣。

我先生的“职务简述”是在上端用红色写出的两个大字——“乐子”。尽管他无私地给予孩子们百般关爱，尽其所能为他们提供所需，我们的孩子们更多的时候还是把他看作攀缘游戏架、大傻瓜和小丑的三合一。

我们俩为人父母的风格是互补的。他的风格是持续不断的探险，在这过程中，没有人需要操心孩子是不是洗手了，是不是吃蔬菜了，或者会不会长蛀牙。我的风格则类似墨索里尼的执政风格。我太忙了，为这操心，为那操心，哪里顾得上找什么乐子。再者，每次我试图逗孩子们开心，我总是被我先生比下去。

我给孩子们买来带泡泡糖香味的牙膏，教他们如何用牙刷转圈儿刷牙以免得蛀牙。他们认为那样刷挺好玩，直到有一天我先生教他们如何漱口——从两颗门牙间把水喷出来。他们发现这才叫好玩。

我带孩子们到小树林里去散步，两个小时后，我好不容易才逮住一个迟钝的瓢虫放进我儿子的虫笼里。在他们眼里我是够“酷”的，直到他们的父亲回家，在后院里只花了两分钟，便捕获了一只有奇瓦瓦小狗那么大的甲虫!

我劝慰自己我是个好妈妈，尽管我先生能做的事情我做不了。我可以确保我的孩子们是安全的、暖和的、干干爽爽的。我可以排队等个小时，让孩子们在大商场里看到圣诞老人——或者第一个排队让孩子们看最新的迪斯尼影片。但是我不会给录像机接上电线，好让孩子们看他们喜欢的录像。

当孩子玩累时，我可以把他们抱到床上，亲吻他们，送他们进入梦乡。但是我无法让他们头冲下，那样他们可以脚踏天花板漫步;或者把他们扛在我的肩膀上，让他们看飞蛾如何在灯具里飞舞。

我可以带他们去看医生，参加童子军集会，或者带他们去参观水族馆，但是我永远也不会进入荒郊野地，在鱼钩上挂上虫饵，钓上一条鱼，然后把鱼用锡纸包起来在明火上烤着吃。

我甚至可以出席每一场少年棒球联合会的比赛，坐在第一排呐喊助威，直到我的嗓子喊疼了，我的扁桃体发炎了，但是我永远无法教我的儿子如何打一个本垒打或者如何巧妙进入一垒的位置。

作为一个母亲，我可以为我的孩子们做许多事情，但是不管我怎样努力——我永远成为不了他们的父亲。