Can I just complain about my children and husband for one minute? And before anyone flies off her broom handle to write me a nasty-gram about how I should appreciate them for who they are, let me preface this by stating that I love my family dearly and that I realize this is totally a non-issue in the grand scheme of the world. There. Happy?
‘Cause I’m not. I recently returned from a professional development workshop, a two-day gathering of teachers at a state college to reinvigorate us for the upcoming school year. Basically it was a summer camp for grown-ups. We ate gourmet meals, networked and told stories, and ended our time with a sort-of talent show where I was able to showcase my questionable musical theater talents in a three-minute rendition of Frozen. Awesome, right?
But when I arrived home, feeling motivated, refreshed and for once, valued, guess what greets me? A sick kid whose dad hasn’t quite gotten around to purchasing medicine, a sink and countertop filled with crusty dishes and fruit flies, and, I’m not joking, a pile of dog poo on the bathroom floor mat. The grass is approaching harvest height, there’s no milk, and only one child made it to their summer sports lesson. In just a little over 48 hours, folks, the Wilson household completely fell apart.
Now I’m not the type of person who thinks, “Ah, that’s sweet. My family needs me!” My immediate reaction cannot be printed here, and fortunately, I was able to lock those comments down before they escaped my pursed lips. (I couldn’t have my children thinking I’d been away at Teacher Potty Mouth School.) But honestly! How hard would it have been for Doo to remind the kids that I’d be home today and to at least pick up the place? And for that matter, why aren’t they thinking of that themselves? They’re all capable of loading a dishwasher and scraping up canine crap! Have I just spent 15 years raising lazy, inconsiderate brats?
Granted, Doo has been ungodly busy with work lately, and parenting is down near “Replace floorboard in back corner of basement” on his To Do list. Still, I just can’t understand why certain things get neglected. He managed to grab a beer with friends; he couldn’t find 10 minutes to run to CVS for some Dayquil?
Jeeze, I sound like a naggy, old bitty even to myself. It was just such a nice break to be single and kid-less for a few days that I’m having difficulty acclimating back to reality. I promise my pity-party will end with the replacement of a certain bathmat, okay? So please, no hate mail. Peace out.