I came downstairs one recent Saturday morning and saw a speeding ticket sitting next to my laptop on the kitchen counter. The message was clear:

Mom, please pay this. Thanks.

For years it was common practice that when my boys would get a parking ticket, I would just pay it with my credit card. It eventually became a running family joke.

Here ya go, Mom.

I have a present for you, Mom.

Mom, I left you something awesome for you near your laptop.

Thanks, Mom.

I don’t pay their tickets anymore. My son was very disappointed when he came downstairs and saw it still sitting there. It is still sitting there. He seems to think I will weaken and pay it. He is wrong.

Tickets are the least of it when you’re a boy mom.

Dirty socks thrown on the floor right next to an empty hamper, instead of in it. A roll of toilet paper propped on top of an empty roll, instead of inserted efficiently onto the dispenser. Condiments mistakenly put into the pantry instead of the refrigerator, resulting in scary mold monsters. Urine on toilet seats, dishes in the sink, unmade beds, milk left out on the counter.

The struggle to grow boys into men is a battle worth winning. Boy moms are not just trying to keep their houses clean. It’s a much bigger quest than that. The battle is raising men who will one day understand the importance of domestic consideration. It’s not enough for them to just be good boys, not even just good men. My boys are already good men.

We want them to be good hubbies. Then good daddies.

So we lecture them, screech at them, become the voices in their heads, hoping one day it will click. We live for that one day when they stop, look us straight in the eye, and say the words we want to hear:

“I’m so sorry, Mom, I didn’t realize I left my breakfast dishes on the counter. Of course I don’t expect you to wash them, you silly goose.  Here, let me clean that up. After all, it’s my mess. Is there anything else I can do to contribute to the household today?”

My boys are almost there. Right on the ten-yard line.

When we witness our boys doing inconsiderate things, it’s like gazing into a crystal ball. We can see them in their own houses with their new brides, and we can see the moment she realizes he doesn’t know how to bring his dishes to the sink. Or how to add fabric detergent to a load of laundry. Or how to scrub the tub with bleach and a scrub brush. Or how to keep the bedroom free of clutter. Or how to use the top sheet. Or how to be the one to get up with the baby in the middle of the night. Or how to help clean up after Thanksgiving dinner instead of sitting on the couch like a fat lazy slob without an ounce of gratitude for the dinner they just ate because they lack the awareness or understanding that the meal they just inhaled in twelve minutes was the result of three weeks of tireless preparation by the hostess.

You can picture this beautiful young girl going to visit her mother. She is sad.

“Mom, he expects me to do everything. I mean, he doesn’t help with anything. How was he raised like that?”

Oh, fuck and HELL NO. Not my boys. I will not be the mom who because of the way I raised my sons will be the source of someone else’s misery. Nope. Never ever ever.

So I continue to work on it. Do your own laundry and dishes. Make sure the kitchen is clean when I come downstairs in the morning. Wash your sheets and your comforter. Make sure the patio looks in the morning the way I left it when I went to bed. Put food away properly. Keep the yard neat. Fold your clothes, and iron them when necessary. Put up the Christmas decorations cheerfully. When you see a light bulb out, replace it. If you don’t have the right kind of bulb, don’t procrastinate- go to the hardware store immediately and get the right kind. Do household chores gratefully, and without rolling your eyes. Reach high stuff. Tighten screws, fluff pillows, keep the mail neat. Make the lunches, keep supplies stocked in the pantry, go buy milk without needing to be reminded. Don’t act like a douchebag if she asks for your help, because she’s strong and capable and wouldn’t ask if she could do it herself. And do it all with gratitude for your life with her.

Here is another quote from Mark Manson:

If you make a sacrifice for someone you care about, it needs to be because you want to, not because you feel obligated or because you fear the consequences of not doing so. If your partner is going to make a sacrifice for you, it needs to be because he or she genuinely wants to, not because you’ve manipulated the sacrifice through anger or guilt. Acts of love are valid only if they’re performed without condition or expectations.

If she has to guilt you into doing stuff, and you hurt her feelings by being a disgruntled piece of shit about it, you have forgotten that you are not honoring a beautiful girl in a white dress who on one very special day stood on an altar and made the greatest sacrifice she could ever make for another human being:

She chose you, you jackass.

Yeah, she chose you. This beautiful girl, this girl who could have had anyone in the world, said “I do” TO YOU. For the rest of your life, you should be on your hands and knees in gratitude that this lovely creature wants to live with you all the time and one day make babies that look like you. And I have told my sons I will be GODDAMNED if I ever have to live to see the day when their wives come to my house to talk to me, sad because their husbands have been nasty, selfish or inconsiderate to them.

Not on my freaking watch.

So I watch my boys treat their beautiful girls the way every girl deserves to be treated. I see them making middle of the night trips to get them their favorite ice-cream. I see them dropping everything to look for her earring. I see them driving for four hours in weekend traffic just for the privilege of taking her to dinner. And one day when my boys get married, I will feel confident knowing that they will always hear my voice in their heads saying the same thing:

Pay your own damn ticket.