On Strike

 “Gah! What now!?!”

By the evening of day five, J was flustered. Ant needed this, K needed that, the washer wouldn’t do its thing, the kitchen was a mess, the trash needed to be taken out, and Sophie had just dumped her food all over the kitchen floor in protest of the new kibble.

I was sitting on the couch, smirking. I was on strike.

K walked on and exclaimed, “The jeans I wanted to wear tomorrow aren’t washed!”

I may or may not have been able to suppress a snicker.

Ant came in and said, “Why won’t Disney XD work on my iPod? Is there something wrong with the wireless?”

Then I started to feel bad, because it was obvious that all of them were out of their realm, and there would be no recovering before bedtime tonight. I slowly, magnanimously, rose from the loveseat and swooped in to fix it all. I had been waiting for the perfect time, and it was now upon me.

***

Last Saturday, on the one weekend a month J has off (and which I like to reserve for fun things, because, seriously? We get one freaking weekend a month) we ended up with laundry list of random crap that needed immediate attention. In nasty weather, no less. By Sunday, this meant that everything that needs to be done for the household (laundry, cleaning, random paperwork, you get the idea) had to be done. If everyone had chipped in that morning, it could have been done easily in a couple of hours.

Instead, I found myself scurrying around doing it all by myself while the guys took Sunday morning to enjoy themselves. This pissed me off so much that I did something I rarely do. I said screw it.

I went on strike. I announced that I was on strike, and would be, indefinitely. They were in charge. Cleaning, laundry, grocery shopping, doctor’s appointments, calls from Ant’s school about random accidents… that was all on them now, and not on me.

J was concerned I would make an actual picket line (he never
wants to be considered a scab), but he didn't need to worry. Creating a
picket line sounded like too much work.  Photo Source

On Monday, K locked himself out of the house after school, and I sat there on the phone at work, asking him what he was going to do about it.

When J forgot to make K’s follow-up doctor’s appointments on Tuesday, I made him call them back.

When Ant didn’t make it to basketball practice, we made cookies instead.

When I didn’t have any clean socks to wear, I stole J’s.

When J listed the handful of things he forgot while he was at the store, I calmly looked back at him, with no offer to help.

And you want to know what I did with all my free time? I wrote. I read. I ordered HBO and watched some TV I’ve wanted to watch for months now. I watched them flounder. I took lots of deep breaths when it came to the state of the kitchen counters, but I was able to hold off.

It’s not that I take some perverse joy in screwing with my family… although I did find this amusing. It’s that I think my guys needed a reminder or two. That I am not the only one in charge of doing this shit. That I do a LOT of the dirty work around here. That it can suck all of your free time and your will to live if you’re left to do everything all by yourself.

Ant was the first one to start being more helpful. Long gone is the whining about feeding the dog and taking out the trash. He also would make me a glass of iced tea at supper, and he made sure the table was set without being asked. J quickly followed with picking up the slack, of course. He’s smart enough to realize that I’m at the end of my rope and supportive enough to play along with my game. K was a harder sell, but even now he’s taking his mountains of miscellaneous crap up to his room right when he gets home, and not dumping it all over the living room and kitchen table.

***

So, on day five, I swooped in and rescued them. All in all, they are good guys, and everyone deserves help when facing insurmountable odds. It took about thirty minutes for me to get it all taken care of, because I’m a pro, but the point was made. I don’t live to serve them, and I can find plenty of fun things to fill my time.

And J watched me with a look of wonder of his face. He best remember that… but, I have my own things to remember, too.

It’s hard for me to let go of things like the laundry, the chores, the to-do list—it was an exercise for me as much as it was for them—because I always use excuses of the things that need to be done to avoid the things I want to do.  Somehow, somewhere, it is ingrained in me that I am both on the front and the last position of defense. No one should feel that way. No one should expect that their role is to play the martyr. It’s not a good feeling. So, for their sake, for my sake, for our family’s sake, I went on strike. And it was fantastic.

Just don’t think that things are going back to business as usual, circa last week, just because I’m calling off the strike for the time being. They’re totally not.

How I Imagine it Would Go Down

An imaginary conversation between me and the kindly police officer, had he pulled me over last Sunday night, instead of the car directly behind me…

Officer: Ma’am, do you know why I pulled you over?

Me: For going about 37 in a 30 MPH zone.

Officer: May I ask why you were going so fast, ma’am?

Me: I’ve got a 9-year-old and a dog guarding the first two dozen cookies. How long do you think that will last?

Officer: I’m sorry?

Me: The recipe lied. I knew it was lying—in fact, I doubled it-- I just didn’t know how much it had underestimated the white chocolate needed to make 6 dozen White Chocolate Peppermint Oreos.

This is where I would gently pat the four additional packages of Ghiradelli white chocolate baking morsels I’d just purchased.

Officer, amused: Oh! Class party?

Me: No. Office cookie exchange.

Officer: Ho, boy! Today has not been your day today, has it?

Me: No, officer. In fact, we’re quickly leaving ‘throat punch’ territory and going to full-throttled ‘stabby’.

Officer: I hope you’re not referring to this encounter.

Me: No, mostly to the long list of unfortunate events which have preceded this encounter today.

Officer: Well, I’m a kindly officer who knows when a woman has reached her limit and I am letting you off with a warning. Please do not speed, but do return home quickly in order to save what cookies may remain from the first batch you tried to make.

Me: Thank you, kindly officer.

Am I the only one who has these imaginary scenarios running through their heads on an almost continuous loop? Yes? Well, the good news is that everyone is usually caring and polite in these scenarios. That must count for something.

You can find the recipe for the White Chocolate Peppermint Oreos—which we will be leaving for Santa, because they’re delicious—here. Also, they should be credited for the photo. Just make sure you know that it will take about a bag of white chocolate morsels for each dozen. 

This post, under the prompt, "What cookies are you leaving for the big guy?" was written for: 

They’ve Got Nothing on St. Nicholas

We have a lot of traditions in our house. I’m a big believer in the holiday traditions. I like making a big deal of almost all of the holidays—New Year’s Eve (the Nana’s birthday), Valentine’s (J and my first date anniversary, and also the day I went into labor with Ant), Easter (HAM…), Fourth of July, you name it. Halloween/Samhain is favorite holiday by far, but I have no problem making a big deal out of Christmas as well.

All I’ve got to say is this: I always wanted my children to look forward to the holidays. I didn’t always look forward to them as a child, and I wanted to make damn sure my kids have tons of wonderful memories.

So, during Christmas, we decorate the Friday after Thanksgiving, we observe St. Nicholas (patron saint of children and gift-giving, he fills the children’s shoes with candy and small toys, to tide them over until Christmas), we have a night of cookie making (the weekend before Christmas), we always have the boys make their gifts for our family members, we observe the Longest Night (Winter Solstice/Yule) you name it! We’ve got the traditions down pat.

To J and me, it’s much better to have and promote the traditions than it is to buy and promote consumerism. In fact, we have limits for the boys’ gifts; they have to fill their Christmas list with four things—something they want, something they need, something for fun and something educational. That’s what they get to ask for.

You can thank the Nana—who did the same thing with me—for that one.

Last night was St. Nicholas. Today is supposed to be the ‘feast’ (and I’ll be making my famous chicken parmesan and J’s garlic cheese bread), but last night was the big fun—as it was the time the boys were supposed to put out their shoes in anticipation of candy and treats. This does require some elaborate planning (especially on how we will keep Sophie from going to the animal hospital with a chocolate overdose).

Plus, now that they’re older… well, it’s less about the magic (let’s face it, we all know Santa is a ghost now, right?) and more actively participating in the traditions. Usually by making a series of raucous jokes.

This semester has been very busy, and so this time around, I put J in charge of procuring the treats which would end up in the shoes. “No problem. I know my boys,” my husband proffered when I asked if he could help out with this. My mother-in-law (and partner in crime when it comes to blowout birthday parties and things like St. Nicholas, or the most elaborate egg dying sessions you can imagine) was sending me text reminders (more on how my teen has taught both grandmothers to use their smart phones at another time) and ideas and potential scenarios, which I was then forwarding to my husband. “No worries, babe. I got this,” was his reply.

And he did have it. He did a great job. And he was even able to handle the curve ball the boys threw at him. They decided that no ordinary shoes would do this year. They needed something…. Bigger. J decided that they needed some…Guidance… on that subject.

We don't fill hiking boots, for instance.

Or roller blades, brooding teen!

We will hide your goodies in normal shoes downstairs... and away from the dog.

Do you have awesome family traditions that you hope to carry on through your child(ren)'s childhood? Or do you want some ideas? Because I'm like the Pinterest of holiday traditions, I swear!