As my boys get a little older with each passing year, I guess I’ve automatically assumed they will help their poor mom out when: A) there is something heavy to carry; and B) when I could use someone to hold the door open for me. I suppose I’ve come to expect a helping hand from the male species, and since my boys are now of able size, I expect them to offer their assistance.
Oh what a funny world in which we live. I come home with a car full of groceries to unload, and of course this is the moment when one or both of the kids will disappear, unfound until they feel it’s safe to come out and forage for whatever snacks their mom just scored at the store.
And I especially like to go to the mall with them. They’re great at holding the door open, yeah, for themselves. Then I find the door almost shut on my face. We went to dinner the other night and Gerald went into the restaurant first, the boys trailing behind him, and I was bringing up the rear. Again, mom is left to grab the closing door.
The bad manners don’t stop there, unfortunately. You should hear my boys when they’re talking on the phone. I know, who actually TALKS on a phone anymore? Well, for sure my boys don’t since they don’t seem to know what to do when there’s an actual (live!) voice on the other end of the line. To make matters worse, we still have a LANDLINE! I know, who actually has a LANDLINE anymore?
Son: Hello. <Translation: What do you want!?? I’m very busy doing nothing and your call is distracting!>
Caller: Can I talk to your dad? <Note no one ever calls me to chat anymore, except for my mom of course, her calls are required>
Son: Umm…. <Translation: Oh no! What do I do? What did the caller just ask me? What am I supposed to be doing? I wasn’t paying attention!>
Caller: Is your dad around?
Son: Uhhh…. <Translation: Oh wait, I think they said something about Dad. I’ll go get Dad, he’ll know what to do.>
Son: Yeah. <Son hands phone to Gerald.>
But my absolute favorite has got to be when I instruct my boys to load/unload the dishwasher. You know, after I’ve been in the kitchen for hours, I feel I shouldn’t have to mess with the dishwasher. But Oh. My. God. You would think I told them to walk across hot coals or something else totally absurd. My oldest does cross country and track, and oh my, would his coaches be impressed at how fast that boy can run when I request dishwasher assistance. I’m convinced the coaches should threaten the kids with dishwasher duty. The school would for sure come in first place every time at the meets.