Antoher story, as promised.
This one involves too much to do and the wonderful monthly menu. The players are:
Hubby, Morticia (the oldest girl who wants to be a mortician), Ms. Business (she wants to go to college for marketing), and Moink, the youngest child in the household. His name really isn't Moink, but when he was in pre-school he was learning to write his name and couldn't connect all the letters properly. He proudly hung it on his bedroom door and his siblings called him Moink from there on in.
Ever have one of those lives where you find yourself spinning with everything that needs to be done, only to find you haven't moved an inch? Yup, me too, and I had one such week only a couple months ago where everything hit the fan. We missed doctor appointments and scout outings and I don't remember what else.
I do know that I was behind in everything, but dinner was on the table.
That following Monday morning I'm sitting on the kitchen stool taking my first sip of Monday morning coffee - and you know what I'm talking about - when Hubby says, "You didn't take Moink to the scout meeting yesterday."
This was a meeting to earn a religious award through boy scouts. It had been moved from another date. I can still tell you what the other date was supposed to be, but not the new one. "No, I didn't. I forgot."
"You need to look at the calendar."
"Why can't you look at the calendar?"
"I know where I'm supposed to be on Sunday afternoons, and I didn't want to insult your intelligence."
Can't have that now, can we?
Throughout the day I thought about this and finally came to the realization that the reason I was missing things was because I was rushing home to make dinner. The plan blossomed so innocently I was shocked to find it lurking there, waiting to be unleashed. I went home and made dinner.
They were all there - a true anomaly. I waited until they were in full chew.
"I missed a lot of things last week. Morticia's doctor appointment, Moink's meeting."
"Yes," they agreed in unison, still chewing.
"I have a lot of activities through the week," I said. They all nodded, chewing placidly amidst the unseen onslaught that was about to hit.
"I'm not giving up my activities. I like the writer's group and singing in choir."
"Of course," they said.
"I realized the reason I missed those things last week was because I was in a rush to get home and make dinner."
The chewing slowed.
"If I hadn't had to do that, I wouldn't have forgotten those things."
Eyes were now on me.
"I'm not going to rush home from work anymore. Most of the time Moink doesn't eat what I make - he makes something for himself. Morticia isn't even here half the time, and if I have to eat peanut butter and jelly I'm okay with that."
The chewing had completely stopped and every face (except Moink's) had that "Oh crap, what did I just step in?" look.
I smiled at Hubby and Ms. Business. "So, you two will have to coordinate on the nights I'm not able to get home to make dinner."
It's been two months and things are working out to my advantage. Moink continues to fend for himself, although he does check with me every morning to find out what's for dinner and if I'm cooking. Morticia refers to it as 'the day mom quit and began shirking her responsibilities'.
I refer to it as the day three teens and a husband were nicely asked to help out a little more. He has stepped up to the plate nicely. I still do all the shopping, although Hubby happy to help. And sometimes dinner isn't ready before six o'clock and nobody complains. I'm still chief concession chef here at the stress pool, butt that appears to be a job nobody wants. That's okay, too. Everyone seems to have come to an understanding.
Except the cat. She doesn't understand why her bowls are empty.
Ah well, not everyone can be happy all the time at the Stress Pool.
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