I have gone on strike. Or, to put it more accurately, I have quit.
Things had been leading up to this for a while. I was having a conversation with The Son, trying to get him to help out around the house, and when I listed all the things I do, he said – quite gleefully, I might add – “It’s like you’re our servant!”
Then, two weeks ago, the three kids had their half-term break, and The Author – unable to work with three kids milling around all day – had an enforced holiday as well. Me, well I still had work to do, and uncomplainingly (yep) I did it. When I got home from the college, the house was a tip: breakfast dishes and lunch dishes piled up on the table, the floor covered with debris of all kinds (where does it all come from?!), and the laundry in a big pile that had sat there for a week because no one approached it except when they were out of something to wear, despite my daily request to please put the clothes away. Something had to give, and I’m afraid it was my temper.
After ranting for a bit how I’m NOT a servant, and we are all members of the household and we all have to pitch in, I looked at everyone’s glazed eyes and thought, I’m not getting through to them. So I officially quit. Continue reading