I'm trying so hard to not raise an asshole.

But there are times when I can't help but feel that the genetics are so not in my favor.

Like when I ask him to put the toilet seat down and he responds with WELL, I HAD TO PUT IT UP!

When he demands food service while he lounges on the couch in front of the TV.

Or when he doubts my math skills - okay, that one might be warranted - because I really don't hold a candle to his ridiculous Rainman abilities.

Even when we're driving - he will sometimes tell me he's sure I don't know where I'm going or that he doesn't think I'm driving properly.

And then there are these kinds of situations... that leave me in utter disbelief and entirely speechless:

I was working in the garden this morning; basking in the warmth of the sun and relishing the peace and quiet. Max woke up and came out to fined me - on my hands and knees - pulling weeds. HEY MOM! WHAT ARE YOU DOING? Hey Sweetie. I'm pulling weeds. CAN I HELP? Sure! So I keep pulling weeds and he continues to stand over me. Then, instead of just watching or actually helping, he starts barking orders at me. THERE'S SOME OVER THERE! GO GET THOSE OVER THERE! MOM, YOU MISSED SOME HERE! COME GET THESE HERE! OH! I DON'T KNOW IF YOU GOT ALL OF THAT ONE! THAT ONE'S GOING TO GROW BACK. YOU SHOULD TRY TO GET THE WHOLE WEED NEXT TIME!!!! YOU HAVE TO PULL MORE SLOWLY! WOW! THERE ARE A LOT OF WEEDS HERE! THIS IS REALLY GOING TO TAKE YOU A LONG TIME. YOU SHOULD GO FASTER, MOM!

I bite my lip and stifle the screaming voice in my head, "IF I NEEDED THAT KIND OF HELP, CHILD, I WOULD STILL BE MARRIED!"

Seriously. "YOU'RE DOING IT WRONG!" is actually encoded.