When is enough, enough? Is there ever a time, as a wife and a mother, that I can throw my hands up in the air and (not wave them like I just don’t care…) say – to hell with this, I’ve had enough! Theoretically, I did just that the other day. I went on “strike” *insert hysterical laughter here*. What was I thinking? That all of a sudden the kids and husband would hear the archangels singing and try to fix everything that I’ve been bitching about? Pfft. Yeah, right.
I have teens. I don’t have really young kids. In less than 6 months I will have an 18-year-old, a 14-year-old and a 13-year-old. Oh, and a 38-year-old…*ahem*. Yet, at some point these four individuals must have fallen and smacked their precious heads on some sort of hard surface and have completely and utterly forgotten how to use their senses. Particularly the sense that tells them there are chores to be done – your bathroom looks like it’s growing something in the sink, the dogs have no water, you might have worn that a time or two since the last wash cycle, there’s a smell coming from your bathroom that is going to disturb the neighbors, and OMG you must be sleeping with a zombie because that’s what your room smells like!
So, I lost my shit. Again. I explained how absolutely tired I was of being the maid. Because that’s how I feel…blah blah blah yadda yadda yadda (like Charlie Brown’s teacher only more life-like). Most days it’s not worth the fight and I just handle it all myself – working, cooking, cleaning the bathrooms, sweeping and mopping, doing the leftover dishes that must have been wearing an invisibility cloak the night before, cleaning the house, and doing every stitch of laundry Mr. EMT and I own because otherwise he will attempt to ‘do’ laundry and we’ll forever be throwing shit in the dryer on wrinkle-free.
The strike lasted a day and a half. The day I lost my shit, Mr. EMT was home from work and school, a rarity these days. Thus, I sent him a message and explained what I saw that morning and that I was on strike until I saw the rest of the family learn to pick up after themselves and do their chores. He had them clean, and clean well – for exactly one day. It lasted for one day. Because the dishes wore an invisibility cloak yet again last night, I refused to cook. Make yourself something to eat, I said. Heat up leftovers, I said. AND DO THE MOTHERFUCKING DISHES, I said. Well, not so drastically, but that’s how I wanted to say it.
I woke up in a little better mood today and I decided I would rather be pissed off and bitchy than to live in a crappily maintained home. I was going to buck up and do all the stuff I didn’t do since Tuesday when I got home today. However, insert a call from The Little’s school and I’m right back to wanting to scream ‘Enough is Enough’! He got into trouble….again….albeit the first time in 3 weeks. He’s a work in progress, but that’s for another post in the future about dealing with middle school kids with two parents who don’t often agree on parenting style.
With all that being said, I realize I cannot actually give up. I have to remain married to Mr. EMT even though I wanted to punch him in the throat this week; I have to remain a mother to three unappreciative adolescents and try to remember that one day they will thank me for this shit; and I have to remember to buy another bottle of wine before I get home….because enough may very well be enough, but that does not count for wine.