It’s a miracle how mothers survive past 30, that is, if she has children earlier than that. I have children already at the adult stage, and though I’d hate to admit it, I am past thirty, so I’m not supposed to be so iffy since my brood are almost all grown up.
They should be responsible enough to take care of themselves, do household chores, be productive human beings by studying well, making good decisions, trying to become well thought of adults who would one day make his/her contribution to society and take part in the innate circle of life, right?
Yeah, right… pffft..
I’d like to think of myself as the epitome of a career woman who managed to do tremendous things at work, fabulous mom at home and a balanced glamorous single parent life I’ve always dreamed of, or at least I always fool myself into believing.
My housemaid went AWOL sometime ago, and for the past six months already, I’ve been running, maintaining, keeping up my small household together with my three children. Suddenly, those small habits that really doesn’t bother me much, now makes me a prick, and the children are likening me to a repetitive cuckoo.
It gets to me, those iffy things that has become part of the irreconcilable differences in divorce proceedings, only this time its with my kids.
Dirty dishes on the sink. I’m afraid if we don’t get to do it sooner the ants would be able to lick it clean. So? no need to wash it right? NatGeo did say ant tracks are anti-bacterial.
Drinking glass on the side table which seem to have been there since time immemorial. You’re getting it wrong, its apt to convert itself into a vase, you’ll get used to it.
School things on the dining table which seemed to be on its way to the bedroom of the assigned owner, only it made a stop over on the table. When I asked politely,”Would you please take it off the table so we could eat dinner?”
My daughter replied, “sure mom, just move it to the other end, I’ll pick it up later” Ok, so later is tomorrow or when you’re going back to school already?
I know I shouldn’t fret, I love my children, that is, if we are on a neutral zone of peace, when we go about trolling the internet, visiting websites or playing with our gadgets.
That is, when I don’t have to keep repeating myself just so they’d do their chores. The ones that they were assigned to do to keep this household running like a good house of decent people where polite and obedient children live, where happy moms look like JLo because they’re so smug and satisfied with their domestic life. ohhh yayyy! happy me 🙂
That is, if they’re not yet driving me to a murderous state where I totally agree with the animal kingdom on why some animals eat their young.
What I really asked them to do since this morning, since this afternoon, just before lunch, no, I think it was since before they were born, I just want them to:
- Do their assigned chores without me having to always…. always… always, is never enough to remind them to do it. This day and age has not seen a 45 record where a needle would skip on a scratch, and the song would keep on repeating itself on the same line. My gad that’s how I feel, a worn out record label repeating myself on a scratch.
- To please not turn night into day by sleeping way into lunchtime, even after that and staying awake till the break of dawn, then telling me when I ask you to clean up the house, “Mom I’m still sleepy.” Huh? aren’t you turning into a vampire with all that sleep?
- Not leave a trail of their existence! No, I did not read to them Hansel and Gretel. No, you do not have to leave bread crumbs all over the house so I’d know where you are, or leave your worn clothes on the floor like skin peelings of a snake. Can you not pick up after your own mess?
- I know you are big enough to understand, but believe me, my instructions are there for a reason. It’s like a manual for newly purchased microwave oven. Believe me kids, I’ve been there, done that, so I know which moves like jagger when you try to pry open a jar of peanut butter, what to pick up first when you wash dishes, and what settings requires when you cook rice.
Which brings me to the tiredness part. It’s so tiring following everyone around cleaning up the mess they made. I keep telling them, I’m not the only one who lives in this house, so we all might as well do our share in making our home a haven of peace, just like our Lord’s home in Nazareth.
Well, as I’ve said, they are good children. They actually do their chores, they just keep telling me I am over reacting and that they would really eventually get to it. So no need to be so hot and bothered.
So by the end of the day, after all the drama and Walking Dead excitement, the dishes are done, the bathroom is cleaned, the clothes are ironed and folded and I get to write my blog in the internet while looking over if everything is done right.
- Daughter 1: “Mom I wish you had super powers so you can do everything you need to do without getting tired.”
- Me : ” Yeah, I really wish I had super powers too, so I’d command you to do the things I want you to do without even telling you, that way I wouldn’t be so tired”
- Daughter 1: “Yup, that’s cool, and we’d have powers too. Powers to resist yours, so you really can’t control us and then, we’d tell you what we want you to do.” 🙂
You think it’s healthy if we eat our young?