If My Kids Ran the Household

child dressed up like a businessman

I’d love to write a NEW screenplay version of Freaky Friday. In a non-Lindsay Lohan remake, It would switch my son with my hubby and my daughter with me.

I think of all the cool things that being two years old again would involve…

  • Being able to pee my pants and not be embarrassed because it wasn’t a result of my two pregnancies
  • Required napping
  • Cute clothes
  • No worries about weight
  • Baby toes (I’d play with them for hours)
  • People carry you around
  • Everyone thinks your adorable even if you crap yourself

Then there’s my husband turning five again. Well, he’d be over the moon, if he took the time to enjoy it.

  • Get to play outside and run and kick and be active without concern for his bummy knee
  • Drawing and coloring
  • Playing with Legos and creating
  • Eat whatever he wants without worry of weight gain or cholesterol issues
  • A bed to himself

Both of us would jump on the opportunity to learn another language since kids under five are sponges and pick up new words and phases so fast.

We would have an amazing time…except…

Our kids would now be in charge.

My two-year-old wouldn’t really understand what to do to keep us alive (cooking, feeding, baths, laundry, keeping toys off the floor so we don’t trip and hurt ourselves, drive us to the hospital when we do) but my son, well, he would probably hold his arms out and say…MINE! MINE!! ALL MINE!!…not that there’s much to be excited over. My husband and I are not rich but in a five year’s old eyes, we have it all.

I’m thinking a typical day would be like this:

My “husband” would go into his office for work and slam on the keyboard to make things work. Since It’s typically the same thing my real husband does (only he uses his head) I figure the fake “hubby” could get away with it for a few days.

The other “me” would get out of bed and go about her day as she normally would. Let’s face it…she’s just taller. This does, unfortunately, mean she’ll have access to scissors and all the hidden candy. So by the end of the day, she’ll have no hair and be passed out from massive sugar crash.


My real husband will be playing Legos in the office or drawing. Reason being is that he’ll be keeping a close eye on the other “hubby” as he “works” In the end, my hubs will have to pick up the pieces of whatever damage my son does to the hubs’ work.

Me? I’ll be climbing the counter to try and make coffee. Someone’s got to stay alert for all this chaos.