The Fixer.

I'm happy to report that in the years since first meeting Mark, the kids have come to love and accept him as a member of our family. There are, however, occasions when they snub his efforts to intervene on my behalf, but that's been mostly limited to times when someone's gotten hurt physically or wounded emotionally.

They'll run straight past him, yelling, "MOM!" despite his attempts to assist. It's like he doesn't exist when Dr. Mom or Referee Mom is required. I know that over time, this'll change, and for now, it doesn't seem to bother Mark.

He gets it.

That's because we've got pretty clearly defined roles around here. I'm the nurturer and he's the fixer. When something needs feeding, cuddling or cleaning, I'm your gal. And when things need to be repaired, installed or refurbished, Mark's your guy. He's amazingly mechanically inclined and has a whole workshop full of well-worn tools to prove it.

Our roles in the house have never been challenged -- until recently.

"Mom! My swim goggles broke," Crowbar squawked, entering the living room.

"Let me see," said Mark, holding out his hand.

Crowbar walked past him, instead holding out the goggles for me to inspect.

"Give them to Mark," I said, knowing if anyone could fix them, it'd be him.

Crowbar hesitated briefly, but continued to hand me the goggles.

"Give them to Mark. He can fix them," I repeated.

Again, Crowbar looked at Mark, but proceeded on his trajectory over to my chair.

"Let me see them," Mark insisted.

Crowbar stopped and just looked at him and then turned his attention back to me.

"Really, if anyone can fix them --" I began, only to be interrupted by Mark.

"I FIX THINGS!" Mark said, raising his voice in a playful, yet exasperated tone. "THAT'S WHAT I DO!"

Ignoring him, Crowbar handed me the goggles, which I quickly alley-ooped into Mark's capable hands. It took Mark less than 2 seconds to snap the unhinged strap into place and throw the newly repaired goggles back to me. I handed them to the boy, who stood before me, totally unphased.

"SEE?!? I FIX THINGS!" Mark asserted.

"Huh," Crowbar shrugged as he inspected the goggles, which were as good as new. Without a word, he turned to leave.

"I FIX THINGS!" Mark called after him, his voice now dripping with stunned disbelief. "I FIX THINGS!"

Crowbar cackled a devilish laugh and ran out of the room.

Mark turned to me and, in a semi-defeated voice, pathetically repeated, "I fix things."

"I know, baby. I know."

- - -

Fast forward several weeks. I'm in my bedroom and Crowbar's sitting on my bed, watching TV. I opened my closet to see that Mark surprised me by installing a full-length mirror on the inside of the door.

"No way!" I squealed. "Mark put up a mirror for me!" I exclaimed.

Crowbar briefly looked away from the TV, sized up the situation and matter of factly replied:

"Yeah, he's a handy guy. He fixes things."

Finally. A breakthrough. Order has been restored.

If there's anyone who can fix a case of broken role reversal, it's Mark.

After all, he fixes things.