I have previously discussed how my husband, Dustin -- while highly trained as a Navy pilot with an engineering degree from the Naval Academy -- is not without his Clark Griswald moments. In fact, it has been my experience that the smarter a man gets in his profession, the more likely he is to fall off a ladder at home, drive away with his coffee cup still on the roof of the car, and/or set fire to the kitchen.

Why do successful men have trouble functioning at home? I'm not sure, but I think it has to do with them not being able to multi-task. Or maybe they use up all their smart energy at work. These are only guesses.

Just the other day, Dustin was doing what he calls the "car carousel," when one car in the driveway blocks another and he has to put the back one forward, and vice versa. His only task was to move the cars. It seemed like he could handle it. However,when I passed by the front window with a pile of clothes, I saw him step out of one car -- now "parked" at the front curb -- and run to the next one in the driveway. Only, he hadn't put the first car in park yet. Soon he was chasing it down the street and, I'm sure, cursing as he went. 

Once the crisis had been diverted, Dustin looked up to see if I had witnessed it. I had. I gave him a smile and a thumbs up out the window. He spent an extra long time outside after that, presumably because he didn't want to come in and hear about it from me.

To be fair,  men also tend to cause problems for themselves, no matter how or where they've spent their smart energy. This seems to be part of their design. Their need to do all things fast, rough, and with power tools only makes matters worse. And when two or more of these men get together, well, all kinds of trouble ensues.

When my family visited over Christmas, we went to a nearby hill to go sledding. The boys had just gotten brand new, state-of-the-art foam "sleds" that actually look more like the boogie boards I was used to in Florida. But Dustin still insisted on bringing our old Radio Flyers, the ones I used when I was a child and are made entirely of wood and now-rusty metal. 

The hill had a handmade ramp on it, which had caused many people to catch serious air. The slope was also slick with ice. Still, this wasn't enough danger for Dustin. No, he decided that going down the biggest hill -- the one with the ramp -- with the Radio Flyer was the way to go.

Off he went in his ski pants from 10 years ago that are about 3 inches too short, two sizes too small and flattened his rearend like a pancake. He had on a full face mask, too. Dustin wasn't joking around.

At first, despite a running start and awkward belly flop technique to mount the sled, Dustin didn't go fast. His ride started painfully slow. Then the sled hit a patch of ice and picked up speed. Dustin was going down the hill like an arrow, his body covering the child-sized sled like an elephant standing on a beach ball. Everyone at the top of the hill turned to look. "Is that an old Radio Flyer?" someone said. I pretended not to know my husband.

When Dustin hit the ramp, he was catapulted into the air and did summersaults over the sled. All I could see was a ball of twisted navy blue ski pants tumbling faster through the snow. At the bottom of the hill, Dustin pierced the snow bank like a splinter. Only his feet and his too-short snow pants were visible. The crowd made a collection, "Ohhhhh," then "Ouch" and "Oh no."

But Dustin looked pleased with himself when he finally stood up and shook off the snow. I felt an urge to make apologies for him, to defend him to onlookers. "Really, my husband is usually very safe and smart...except for that time he left the keys in the car that wasn't in park...he probably looks smarter when he flies...maybe...."

Turns out, apologies and explanations wouldn't be necessary. For all of the shock expressed by people on the hill about this grown man about to go down the slope on an old Radio Flyer made for children, when Dustin got to the top again, a few men nearby asked, "Dude, can I have a turn now?"