My Mom had no idea that she'd bought into feminist ideology as she raised her six children. To her Post Depression Era way of thinking, our college educations were to be a magic ticket back to the plantation penthouse, with, at the most, maids and servants; and at the least, an automated future - -guaranteed by post WWII optimism- - wherein we would never have to slave over a hot stove or wash a window. Hence:
We were never required to do chores. At least the youngest three who I grew up with.
Enter adulthood and childrearing. My poor nubbins have endured the crippling effects of more dysfunction than AmZyg can begin to describe, given all her pre&postPuberty freedom; therefore it's a natural part of her current family dynamic that confusion reigns alot.
Chock it up to basic zygotish blindness; or maybe it's lack of sleep from having to hand water the yards at 4:30 this morning, or maybe it was cutting out 23 leaf decorations for D2's new classroom she starts teaching in tomorrow. It's all of the above, so, bleary eyed and fighting sleep...
...I can't help whining: why is my kitchen always a mess?
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| This is AFTER an hour of attention |
We had a reunion meal tonight. The kids returned from far flung opportunities, exchanged funny souvenirs, hugs, stories & laughter... and the obligatory big meal complete with lots of pots and pans, plates and condiments, and the usual off-putting sensation that the cyclone is all someone ELSE'S problem...
I never knew what it meant to own a mess. Mom always worked magic over the sink after every meal. And now, waving my magic ticket from a top university, I keep wondering: when is that magic fairy going to show up? Mom??!
After dinner, one of the "offspring" was less engaged than the rest, so I did a grown up, very functional thing. I assigned a chore! Loook how I'm growing! Just put the food away, I requested. (Now, this twenty-UP-THERE-year-old just today finally finished a nine-day-long clean up of a teaTray/teapot/teacups & saucers that I placed atop her unmade bed in order to finally bring them to her attention... so it made sense to me that she'd be especially eager to please a veryPatientParent.
And furthermore, I know this one to be very detail oriented. Witness her little pen/ink hanging on the wall:
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| Little fences, little soldiers, little tree-lined grassy hills and vales |
... Yes, this ones knows details. Has a gift for the tiniest triviality. So why, then, would she walk away after doing these:
... and leave these:
... and these?
Or, heaven forbid, THESE...
Well, you would be a genius if you guessed the answer. Could it be because I didn't ask her to do the dishes? THAT'S RIGHT! Years of guilt over no chore requirements while growing up have produced an incapacity for asking my children to get in there and work their own magic.
What a simpleton AmZyg is to have never sought a MagicFairy therapist to explain all this to her.
And now it is easy to understand how this fifty year old zygote could sprain a wrist simply scrubbing a kitchen floor. It gets that dirty waiting weeks for someone to notice that feet are sticking.
= = = = = = =
Yet, amidst my confused and unkempt state, I praise God for OS's composed, mature satisfaction over what transpired at Summit Ministries. He grew. Phew.
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