Non-Profit Disorganization in Introduction

Although the weekend contains my only two days with no outside work, it’s often the busiest, giving me very little time alone to write. After I left work on Friday, “the man” and I (really feel weird calling a 51-year-old my “boyfriend”) did our usual beer/pizza run. If you told the child/teenage version of me that there would come a day that I would actually tire of having pizza for dinner, I wouldn’t have believed you. Yet, as much as the family looks forward to pizza night here, I would much rather have sushi or some other kind of seafood. Since pizza is cheaper, goes further, and makes everyone else happy, we’ve been sticking with it.

For as long as I can remember, I kept weekly menus on the chalkboard in the kitchen so that the fam would be able to find out what I was serving on any given night, and reduce the amount of times I would be forced to repeat things like, “chicken parm” to five different people. Lately, I just lost my oomph for doing the cutesy mom things that they’ve come to be able to expect. Matter of fact, I have pretty much given up on being the modern-day Donna Reed (I originally typed “Carol Brady”, but then remembered that she did not do all her own stunts - Alice did!) in favor of showing them all a thing or two about appreciation. Unfortunately for me, it’s looking like a backfire. A stinky, cluttered backfire.

I share the household with three of my sons (27, 20 and 15), and my 51-year-old “guy” (seriously, his name is Joe), who all give varying degrees of helpfulness to me (some more than others), but all do contribute to the household as far as either financially, make repairs, handyman stuff, or other chores. Joe works MUCH longer, more mentally stimulating hours than I do, and still manages to help me around here, so he is exempt from this tirade. The thing is, though, even with all their help, the bulk of the workload still rests on my shoulders, and those who do their part and get my grateful kudos for chipping in seem to just expect it from me. I call it the “housewife experience” they’re getting, and meanwhile, I’m stuck with the “roommate experience” from them. While it isn’t as nasty as it would get if I let it be, we are leaning much closer to Oscar than Felix these days. They’ll do their laundry, occasionally a few dishes get washed by someone other than me, and they will otherwise do what I ask of them, but as far as cooking/managing the budget/actual housekeeping, in addition to my financial contribution, the scale is definitely unbalanced. Since I’m too proud to beg and don’t want to become a nag, I decided to just stop doing things I don’t want to do, and see if it elicits change.

What I have learned so far is that at some point, my family stopped caring about the menu and will eat whatever I put out at dinnertime, regardless of how prepared their palates are to taste it. I learned that they do not mind a sink full of stinky dishes, and will be glad to use paper plates. They do not care if our garbage or recycling bins resemble a more disgusting version of Jenga, they will just let it pile up and topple over. They’re happy and content with however the house looks, despite how much time I wasted in their youth making sure they lived in a well-kept environment. They have been trained to believe (know) that “mom will take care of it”.

Until she won’t!

I, on the other hand, am obviously disappointed with the defeat, and I realize it’s time to allow my pride to take a backseat in the interest of my goal. I have to be, once again, the pioneer and put an end to the unspoken battle of wills, turn my retired menu board into a chore chart, and “mom” them into shape. We are talking about mainly adults here, after all… and if experience is the best teacher, one thing I have taken away in my years of being the maternal figurehead in this joint is that if I don’t let up and refuse to bend, it will become a way of life. In a way, I am the one who needs the training. As much as it bothers me, I have to continue neglecting the jobs in which I am able to (obviously not the ones that cause pollution) and announce my retirement, or at least demote myself.

Next Friday, I am having salmon.

(Which I will most likely be the one to cook.)

Last updated June 09, 2019