There Comes a Time

It’s after they lose the new baby smell, and develop the stinky, sweaty boy smell. It’s after they start school. These things I do know. After that, it becomes a little hazy. Probably because I was too damn busy catering to their every whim and desire.

K started kindergarten the year that Ant was born. This was great, for several reasons. First, it lent structure to my day. It gave K a place that the new baby could not intrude. It meant that I had a good chunk of the day that I could dedicate wholly to my second child—and not feel as if he were just a fifth wheel, along for the ride.

It had one downside. I had done it all before. And I was going to be doing it for the next six years. All over again. It was mind-numbing and sometimes degrading, and just shy of insanity-provoking. I have a hard time completing the same task, day in and day out, with little change. I could never work an assembly-line job, that’s for sure. I don’t know what would happen once my mind snapped, but I am fairly certain that I would end up on the news and it would not be good.

By it, I mean the completely-enveloping care of the small child and the mountainous household tasks associated with those little creatures. All in all, I dedicated 12 years of my life to those tasks. My first born went into middle school (and a whole ‘nother dimension of parenting) the same year Ant started kindergarten.  THOSE were some dark days. Try doing middle school and kindergarten orientation on back-to-back nights.

I thought it would be better once they were in school, but it was worse. I spent a year trying to do it all—work full time, parent full time, keep the house full time, schedule everyone and chauffeur full time; all under massive amounts of external stressors.

Then we moved, slowed down the pace of our lives, and got into a healthier place.  That’s when I started to notice that I was, um, doing a bit too much in the household. Why couldn’t a 12 year old do his laundry? Why couldn’t the seven year old make his bed?

Soon after, I heard a horror story about a teenager who didn’t know how to make themselves a peanut butter and jelly. I’ve dealt with young adults before who needed basic courses in laundry sorting (“Is this a white or a color? Good job!”), cooking, and cleanup. I’d be damned if my kids turned into them.

So, I quit. For the summer. They were in charge of housework and their own laundry. There was no compensation for their work. I would not take them anywhere without at least 48 hours’ notice. They had to make plans for their events, and then submit them to me, and then, if I wished, I could reject it. They had to learn how to scrub a toilet and clean up something nasty and mow the lawn and how to clean baseboards, doors, and mini-blinds at the beginning of each season.

They hated me. If they did a half-assed job on something I just couldn’t tolerate, I made them do it again until they got it right. If I could tolerate it, I let it play out—so they could see the natural consequences, (“Why, hello, Mr. Little Black Ant! How many of your friends did you bring with you? Were you attracted to the cereal left out on the counter?”), and how much it sucked to ‘fix a problem’ as opposed to keeping something picked up and clean.

They learned. They clean up their stuff. We spend a morning each weekend cleaning things, with minimal complaints. They know how to switch over laundry and load a dishwasher, and they now realize that minimal chores are nothing in comparison to being in charge every day.

The one thing we didn’t touch (J was afraid he may starve, and I was afraid of these two touching the stove) was meal prep, cooking, and grocery shopping. During the past few weeks it’s become apparent that we neglected something. The whining and complaining about meals and demanding specific foods has increased significantly over the last couple months—but the school project that just assumed I would make myself available to cook and produce for a large crowd—that put me over the edge.

It’s not completely the kids’ fault. It’s the teacher’s fault as well. But I wasn’t even asked, and that’s where I draw the line. It was time for the boys to learn just how much time and energy goes into shopping, prepping, cooking, and cleaning up. Granted, they help at the store, and they have input on our weekly menu, and they do dishes, but they needed to understand that providing food for one’s family takes up a large part of our culture because 1) it’s freaking important and 2) it’s time consuming!

We were planning to work on this during the summer months, in conjunction with the garden project (and building off the foods class K is taking this semester), but it’s been pushed up. It’s in effect this week. It may roll into next week. J thinks it’s the worst idea ever (again, he’s afraid of starving to death), but the boys are going to learn how demoralizing it is to have two someones’ constantly badgering you about what the next meal will be.

We are currently on DAY 4. The next post will be about how the week has progressed.

Do you think I’m mean? Well, if you do, that’s fine. At least I’m not the only one. Last week, Amy from Never True Tales put her children in charge of the household chores for the week. They didn’t die, by the way (although when she mentioned that her son saw the piles of laundry waiting to be folded and put away, only to break down and cry,  I snorted with glee), and mine won’t either. In fact, Lisa Belkin wrote an article for the New York Times today discussing why mothers should consider quitting!

Put another way—by having children, I did not complicity agree to give up my soul and all that I am and all that I enjoy so that they have clean baseball uniforms and a never-ending stock of Pop-tarts on hand. It’s important for me to reclaim part of myself for me. It’s important for my children to learn that I am something more than them. And it’s important for them to learn how to do these things as well, because they’ll be expected to do them when they’re the parents, and I don’t want to see them fail!

I’ll keep you posted on how that’s working out… Until then, here's a picture from the grocery shopping portion of the week: