Anyone else out there have a completely different parenting style than their spouse? We’ve read the same books, we’ve taken the same workshops, but when push comes to shove, we are very different parents.

This often frustrates me, for two reasons. The first is that my way is right, and any other way is wrong.

The second is that I hate seeing my kids sad. When they’re being the tiny little army of jerks that they are, and that’s always, and Eric yells at them — even if I was ten seconds away from yelling at them myself — my knee-jerk response is “don’t yell at those little jerks!! They’re my little jerks!”

See, I can make my kids cry. But anyone else makes them cry? You’re on my list.

My parenting style oscillates back and forth between gentle parenting and Mean Mommy, or what I like to think of as “Dr. Bailey” parenting, for any other Greys fans out there.

Meaning I’m here with all the empathy, until I’m not, and then I’m starting sentences with “you FOOLS better have a good explanation for this.” And then there’s just yelling and tears and threats to put them up for adoption.

If I had to guess, I’d say that walking in on me drafting up adoption papers for his children makes Eric bristle, the same way that him telling the kids he’ll give them something to cry about makes me bristle.

But as my good friend reminds me often — kids don’t need two of the same parent. Two different parents can be a good thing.

For starters, husbands and wives are very different on a core level. If you’re not sure what I mean, here’s an example.

Last weekend, we were getting ready to leave for a week away. My in laws are staying with the kids, in our home. On Saturday, we had the following conversation in preparation:

Me: Since we leave Monday morning, I’m to going to try and get Monday’s chores done today. So that’s laundry, cleaning the bathrooms, deep cleaning the kitchen, and mopping. Plus we should probably organize the cubbies, the pantry and the coat closet so your parents can find everything easily.

Eric: Cool. So is there anything you need help with inside? Otherwise I’m going to head outside and cut down the ferns.

Me: ….

….

…

This is how husbands and wives are inherently different. We’re scrubbing the floors that people will be walking on and they’re cutting down ferns that no one will see and we both firmly believe we’re being 10000% helpful.

Then, you have the unique differences in personality. Case in point, this morning.

Eric and I are in Santa Monica, and we walked up to Venice Beach this morning to find a Starbucks. On our way in, we passed a shopping cart full of garbage bags and throw pillows.

“Cute pillows,” I thought to myself as we walked past.

When we got inside, the owner of said cart was at the counter, getting some free sugar packets.

While we were waiting for our coffee, he went back outside where he struggled to get his cart down the flight of stairs. I ran outside quickly and asked “can I help you with that?” while reaching for the other end of his cart.

“Get the F*%# away!!! Don’t touch that!!! I can do it myself, I don’t need your f*%#ing help!!!” he yelled at me.

I promptly started weeping, and ran back inside to lick my wounds. I am still thinking about it now.

Eric, meanwhile, misinterpreted this exchange as the man needing more help than just mine, so he ran out to offer his services. The man gave him a similar speech, and Eric told him to go to hell, then got on with his morning and probably hasn’t thought about it since.

We are different.

And that is fine. That is good.

My kids need both the parent that cries when she sees them crying, and the parent that tells them to buck up and deal with it. They can see one parent in flight mode and one in fight mode and know that both are viable options.

All that said, don’t expect any parenting advice from us. We’re different, for sure, but we’re both still scratching our head and wondering if either of us is getting it right.

For example, this little angel has been awake at 2 am, every night the last month and a half.

“Should we let him cry?” we ask, half asleep.

“No, that will wake the other kids and then they’ll all be a mess.”

So, we bring him into bed and let him sleep in between us and I wake up at 6 am with his hand down my shirt, while Eric has long since left to sleep on the couch because Fitz won’t stop kicking him.

So now we have Eric walking in on me drafting papers to legally change his name from Fitzgerald to Oedipus. Is this helping him feel secure? Or will he hate Eric forever and have a sick, unhealthy obsession with me?

Time will tell. I’m obviously hoping for the latter because I need at least one child who wants to live with us forever.

Meanwhile, if you feel like you and your spouse are on completely different parenting pages, you’re not alone. Scrub those floors while he cuts down those ferns and know that your kids are better for it.