Kryptonite

My children have, from time to time, fixed their own breakfasts, run their own baths, packed their own clothes – even done their homework on their own. They have played quietly with others, held doors, said thank you and used the proper utensils.

How do I know this? Other people have told me about it. Teachers, sitters, grandparents, have all reported that my kids are delightful and self-reliant. Me? I wouldn’t know.

When I’m around, my super-children suddenly go to pieces. I swear, you’d think their arms fell off – and how can they pick out their clothes with no arms?!?!?!? They could make breakfast, but gee, I just pour the milk better.

The minute I show up, homework translates itself into a foreign language, bath temperatures fluctuate wildly, clean clothes disappear and shoes won’t tie. (Could I have a nickel please for every time my son has screamed “stupid shoes!!”? I’ll send him to college on it. I promise.)

All desires and powers to be self-reliant drain away in my company.

What could cause the total collapse of meine klinen kinder? There is only one logical explanation.

I'm kryptonite. Just as the slightest exposure to this menacing mineral turns Superman into a helpless blob, so my mere presence is enough to turn my happy, capable children into howling babies. With no arms.

The classic approach (according to DC Comics) would be to encase them in lead. Or, wait, is it me who should be encased in lead? (And if so, can I sleep?)

Sigh. If anyone discovers a cure, kindly send it along.