Acorns And Oak Trees

I grew up hearing the cliche "the acorn doesn't fall far from the oak"; today, I had an opportunity to see it in action.

Today was a clean-the-house day, mostly because my birthday happened this past week and because I was a little snotty about the sperm donor's plans to spend both days with his guy friends.  Normally, I don't give a rat's ass about his social plans, except for when it's at the expense of the shit we need to get done at home.  Oh, and the birthday is relevant because I always ask for housecleaning for a gift...isn't that just sad?

So instead of spending two days helping other people, he gets one.  I think it's a fair trade, given we both work outside the home.  And in the spirit of the weekend, I didn't even start lighting fires under asses until at least noon.

But when I did, I presented the Sprout with a list of chores he was to do. Nothing beyond the ken of a child his age - clean up your own crap wherever it may be, gather your dirty clothes together, make your bed, unload and reload the dishwasher.  This last is where it fell apart on him.  As the sperm donor was scrubbing away in the kitchen, he discovered that Sprout had not emptied the utensil rack...and we'd all added dirty items to it, thinking that's what was there.  Himself lost it, sentenced the Sprout to wash every item in there by hand, dry it all and put it away - clean or dirty, every piece.  It degraded from there.

Between every task that child was assigned, he'd hot foot it into the living room, snatching up a hand held gaming device, or staring intently at the television. Even when the TV was turned to nothing but Pandora radio, he would stop what he was doing at the start of each song, running in to see who was singing or the name of the song.  Sperm Donor was beside himself - "Just get it done! The more you dawdle, the more of your day you lose!"

But see, here's the thing...the kid didn't lick it off a rock - he comes by this trait honestly.  And I know this because I watched his father today.  Scrub the counters and clean up the kitchen.  Go have a smoke and play sudoko on the iPad for 20 minutes. Clean the bathroom. Go have a smoke then sit on the couch and fiddle with a cell phone for 20 minutes.  Put away clean laundry.  Go have a smoke then pull out the laptop for half an hour.

I'm also amazed that every weekend, when there's cleaning to be done, the sperm donor tolerates a fantastical amount of procrastination, TV watching, video game playing and all-around shenanigans from the sprout...so long as I'm not harrassing HIM to clean.  Oh, now and then he'll mumble "Go do what your mother asked" and be ignored. But the minute HE'S on the spot, it's all hellfire and brimstone if you're not pulling your weight too.  It never bodes well for the sprout when Daddy's gotta clean.

Today, the acorn pissed the oak off so much that the acorn lost privileges. Only for a day, nothing too catastrophic.  Maybe I need to ride them both to clean EVERY weekend so it's not such an ordeal.  Or maybe I need to do that thing I'm very, very close to doing...hiring a cleaning service.

Keep your bodily functions to yourself

Dear Sperm Donor,

It is NOT the highlight of my day to walk in encumbered by both a large, heavy bag of groceries and my laptop case only to be serenaded by your ass explosions and grunts because you are taking a dump with the bathroom door open.

Nor is it the highlight of my day to have that magical sound and visual accompanied by the rancid stench of your efforts while I try to round up something to eat after the meeting I went to about our school system.

Oh, and thanks so much for NOT saving me some dinner, assclown.

Love,

DT

Lists

I'm a list maker.  I love to have a list of shit I need to get done, and feel the absurd satisfaction of crossing tasks off it.  I get a lot of heat for being a list maker. The Sperm Donor doesn't make lists - thinks it's silly, maybe, I dunno.  Of course, he doesn't remember shit, so it doesn't necessarily prove his case, now, does it?

I was thinking about lists on my way to work this morning. I'm up to my neck in projects at work, really starting to feel overwhelmed, and wondering why I wasn't making To Do lists. Probably because I can't keep up with one in that environment - it's too dynamic.  Walk into one meeting to report something done, walk out with three things to add.

I think that lists in my personal life have become validation. I can so easily be sucked into the morass of resentment that develops when I work around the house while the SD sits on his ass and plays on his computer, or watches TV. Somehow, his inactivity, his lack of participation, makes me feel like I'm not making headway.  So I itemize. I update my Facebook status with my list of accomplishments.  I'm not looking for a pat on the head from my friends; no, it's more a case of being able to see, right there in that list, that YES, I DID get an assload of stuff done today and I have every right to be proud of it.

Now.  Where the hell is that list?

Well, look at that...

...the weekend is gone and the sperm donor managed to contribute nothing at all to the smooth running of our household. Not an emptied dishwasher, not a vacuumed floor, not a good god-damned thing.


What he DID manage to do was fritter away Saturday morning doing gods-know-what (probably sudoku) on his laptop, then spend the next seven hours helping someone ELSE with stuff around THEIR house. And I can't even be well and truly pissed at him for Sunday, because he spent the entire day doing things for my elderly parents. Well, I can be pissed that he felt compelled to re-mow the lawn that my brother mowed after work on Tuesday, because there's no fucking way the lawn needed it already.

There have also been what I refer to as "boating noises".  I haven't mentioned this before, but SD is completely obsessed with boating all summer long. It's not like his boat is anything to inspire envy in the neighbors...or anyone, for that matter. But it's his, and it's paid for, and it's cheap to run and it's something of his dad's that he loves.  The downside to the whole boat issue is that he would happily spend every nice summer weekend day on it, at the expense of those chores that keep a family/household running smoothly.

Beware The Unwell

Screw the undead. It's the unwell you need to fear.  Seriously, when I'm sick, I'm either helpless or mean. Sometimes I'm helplessly mean.

I've been sick for over a week. I don't mean a little sniffle or a little congestion; I mean out-of-work-for-a-week, shivering-on-the-sofa-waiting-for-death sick. And that first part? That out-of-work-for-a-week part? That means I was trapped in the house with the increasingly fretful DH (still recovering from his surgery) and the stupendously annoying demon spawn (home for winter break).

My best efforts at recovery were destined for failure from the start.  When I get sick, I cocoon.  I want to hole up in my nest with all the supplies I'll need to ride out the storm of my illness. This was not to be.

One Saturday in July...

<This is not my story - it was shared with me by a member of MWDAS, and I have permission to publish it>
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
I ran away from home today. Truly, I did, and I am proud of it.  It apparently did the trick, got the message across, worked wonders.

My house was clean for the entire time DH was gone on his business trip. Now, I'm not gonna go so far as to say it was so clean my mother-in-law could've shown up unannounced and I'd've been okay with it. But the first floor clutter was under control, the kitchen didn't look like something from a crack whore's apartment and the floors were clean. Second floor was...tolerable. With DH gone for a week, I had put away the cursed-and-blasted ironing board that he leaves up because he irons every morning, so the loft felt a bit less cluttered and claustrophobic. 

Men and Children

<Caveat: You'll find that the behaviour of men both frustrates and confuses me.>

DH is home today. There were a couple around-the-house things to get done, but I considered it highly likely he wouldn't remember (read: think) to do them, as they'd been discussed over the prior weekend. So today, I sent a little reminder. What I got in return was, I think, typical of most men (and for any males reading this who disagree, note that I use the term "most"...not "all").  It was a complete and detailed listing of all the things he did around the house.