I often spend a few minutes in the morning talking to one of my co-workers, who has two little boys and every conversation includes her boys in some sense or another.  She is one of those selfless mothers, the kind who would sacrifice her own well being so that the men in her life are happy.  She wakes up and makes them elaborate lunches, but forgets to eat herself.  She saves her vacation days for when her children will inevitably become sick during the year.  Every small change in their looks, every small sigh her children make before sleeping, every small noodle to fall out of their mouths is a morning headline to be shared with all.

On a side note, for being so devoted to other people’s well-being, she looks so amazing every morning.  Her outfits are perfectly put together, her hair and makeup, flawless.  I wish I was her.  Except without the selflessness and all the sacrifices.

One morning, I asked her how she was doing, and after listening to how the littlest one got a new sword and tried to impale her on it, I asked her, “don’t you wish you had a daughter?”  She replied that the two boys are already quite a handful, but she is ready for them to get married (ahem…they are 3 and 5), and their spouses will be her daughters.

We then had a conversation about how to raise little boys to be great men, wonderful husbands, and caring fathers.  We mostly shared stories about our own fathers, but eventually the conversation turned to our respective husbands.  She asked what attributes does my husband possess that she should pass on to her sons — and I thought of all the things I am grateful my mother-in-law taught Pedram.  He comes to my aid when spiders and centipedes are around, and then listens to my humanitarian rant and captures and releases them outdoors.  He takes out the garbage, and makes me tea in the mornings.  He is the most compassionate listener I have ever met.  He likes to going shopping with me.

A few hours later, she passed by my office on her way to the bathroom, and I remembered a very important one.

“He pees sitting down!”  I yelled out to the hallway.

Mothers, teach your sons to sit down when they pee.  Pedram’s mom once told me that when she realized that she was outnumbered by men in the household 3 to 1, she made that the golden rule in the house.  And I have, in the past, shared a bathroom with men who don’t sit, and leave the seat up, and forget to aim.  And eventhough that man was my brother, I was still considering sibling divorce.

I am grateful for alot of Pedram’s characteristics, and I often give thanks to his mom for teaching him well.  But this one is most important lesson he learned.

So please, teach your men to sit — it will make their future wives much much happier.