Strike.

I am done.

Done. Done. Done.

I should have created a category called Shit My Kids DON’T Do.

So I got up this morning, came downstairs to make myself a cup of coffee and took notice of the ever-expanding mess on the kitchen counters. Every single (and previously clean) surface was covered in one or more of the following: food bits, napkins, utensils, dirty dishes, dirty dishtowels, packages of non-refrigerated food, miscellaneous shit from other parts of the house.

Not one ounce of it was mine. In fact, every dish and utensil that I used yesterday went straight into The Dishwasher:  a magical box that can be found near The Sink Of Misery & Despair, located beneath The Countertop Of Woe.

I swear I fucking own Schrödinger’s Dishwasher. One cannot know whether the dishes inside are dirty or clean, therefore – according to the quantum principle of superposition – until the moment that the box is opened the dishes are both dirty and clean. He or she who opens the door to clean dishes must unfortunately be the one to put them all away, so it’s apparently in everyone’s best interests to just never open it to find out. Even if the kitchen counters begin to resemble something from an episode of Hoarders.

And they do, at this very moment. I contemplated taking photos, but it’s fucking embarrassing. The living room is not much better. The producers at TLC would look at my house right now and be like NOPE. On a normal day, my house is as clean as I can possibly keep it. This means that I dust and vacuum every other day (at the very least). I also wipe down the bathrooms several times between proper weekly cleanings. I declutter all surfaces, repeatedly, throughout any given day. Like the inner workings of an atomic clock, I perpetuate these mundane and ceaseless undertakings because if I don’t, my house will turn into shit in less than an instant. The cherry on top? I’ll clean everything downstairs, go upstairs to work at my computer for a while, and come back downstairs not one hour later to find that all of my housework has been completely – and rudely – undone.

No more.

This morning, I surveyed my surroundings. I took a deep breath. I brewed my coffee. And while I listened to the soothing percolation of the machine, I hung these throughout the communal areas of the downstairs:

strikesign

 

And five minutes later when one of the kids took one down, crumpled it up and threw it in the trash, I put it back:

crumpledsign

And then I hung this:

finesign

I let her off with a warning. This time.

I’m not kidding. My ass (and my dishpan hands) are on strike – indefinitely. Oh, I’ll still do laundry, and the dusting/vacuuming around everyone’s shit, but I’m not doing anything more than that. I’ll get back to cooking once I have an acceptable area in which to do so.

I was planning on making sirloin tips tonight, but we’ll see how it goes. Might be a PB&J Wrapped In A Paper Towel kind of evening.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s