It’s that time of year, I guess.
It seems like every year, this time, something in my family falls apart. The kids quit picking up after themselves, they look at me as if I speak Greek, blatantly disobey me and some sort of Spring bickering settles in. Inevitably, after several days of their disrespect for everything and having exhausted all usual corrective measures, Mom goes on strike.
It usually also involves a degree of Dad not pitching in as well, being too consumed with work or other civic duties, or not. All of a sudden, I find myself barely able to keep up with my load, and I refuse to pick up the load for the 3 lazy bodies who have seemed to check into their own little worlds.
Typically, I can step over a thing or two. I have a sane threshold for temporarily unkept things. A pair of shoes or a pile of toys can sit for 3 days, hell, even a week before I get my panties in a wad. Spring hasn’t busied them with sports, or anything of the sort. The messes accumulate into unbearable proportions while they sit on their lily-white asses. The honey-do list swells with miscellaneous fix-its. The kids fail to acknowledge the importance of hygiene, let alone punctuality. They can’t seem to get out the door with combed hair, weather appropriate clothes and all their stuff. Every minute as a household manager becomes a horrible struggle. They’ve done okay in the past with all this. Why trouble now? Why every year? The last two years Mom on Strike was in it’s infancy. This year, the mere mention of it to my husband made him quiver and launched him steadfast into preventative action.
So what happens when Mom goes on strike? Mom decides to get caught up on that book she never quite finished. Ditto on the paintings and unfinished poetry. She goes into her bedroom and turns up her music so as to drown out the ensuing insanity and crank up the pleasure while she reads and writes. She sits gleefully in the backyard and watches birdies perch on the fence. She leaves Dad with the brood and goes to the coffeehouse for tea. She retreats to the bathroom and gives herself a much needed pedicure.
If you can’t beat’m, join’m.
