Help! The battle wages on, and my ally is unreliable.

If you are not with me, then you are against me. Greg is not with me, and I cannot win this war without him.

SATURDAY
Saturday afternoon, Juliette and her dad were banging out some nursery rhymes on our baby grand piano. They were working through a rousing rendition of “Old McDonald had a farm”:

J: “And on his farm he had a f**k”

G: “He had a what? He had a flock? A flock of what?”

J: “Nooo, Daddy, not a flock.”

G: Still trying to recover: "He had a pig? What does a pig say?"

J: Fortunately is easily distracted, and responds: "Oink oink!"

SUNDAY
On Sunday, we were heading to our friends, Scott and Elise’s, so Juliette could play with their son Nathan, I could hang out with Elise, and Greg could help Scott with his bathroom remodel. Of course, we need to leave at 10:00; Greg wakes up at 9:50. I comment that it is getting late to get there in time, and he confidently replies “No, come on, we can be outta here in 20 minutes.”

One hour later, we were finally pulling out of the driveway. Greg, as usual, was frustrated that I kept him waiting while I gathered all the gear we needed for the afternoon. I, as usual, was frustrated that he had slept late then gave me a hard time for not having everything ready. Juliette was frustrated because she wanted to watch “Go Diego Go” before leaving, and Cosette was frustrated just because she was picking up on the general mood in the car. We are heading towards the highway, and as is my habit, I take a quick mental inventory: 2 kids, check. Dog, check. Dipaers, check. Baby food, check. Cell phone, check. I turn to Greg: “Did you remember your tools?”

Greg’s response: a resounding “F**K!”

What am I to do? Greg confided in me that every time I yell at him for swearing, although he knows I am right, the little rebellious boy in the back of his head always pipes up: “I can swear if I want to, you can’t tell me what to do.” If her father thinks like this, how will Juliette ever learn?