out of control of my own life…

I need to CTRL-ALT-DEL my life, or rewind it back 20 kilograms ago.

I feel disorganised, I am disorganised. Routines in my little house on the hill, are so stop-start. If only the boys could follow through with their jobs, like they do with their cricket strokes on Saturdays.

We have tried to create chores lists over the years but, they are so hit and miss. All jobs, on the list are negotiated and renegotiated, to the extent that I am reassured my children, should be able to manipulate for themselves, excellent working conditions when they find fulltime employment.

Expectations here at my house are so totalitarian.

I wonder what a 38km taxi fare rate is these days. I could do with some extra cash. Was I like this growing up? Well for starters I lived in town so I could ride my bike to my weekend sport, I could walk home from school if I missed the bus. I was self-sufficient. Also there was only one of me, so trying to stay abreast of all the extra-curricular activities for my parents couldn’t have been that hard.

When I was the same age as my children I had more responsibility. My mother made me iron my uniform when I was in the first year of primary school. It was a real bitch to iron with all those box pleats, I also had to make my lunch from about that age also. 9 years of Vegemite, I don’t remember whining about it. I use to have a thermos of Vegemite in winter when I was in year 2. My children refuse to eat Vegemite they are so Un-Australian.

I was in Germany last year visiting the school of a very dear friend, there her son has a cooked healthy meal for lunch every day. There is no wasted food in the school bags for my friend to throw out. I bet she has never had to go searching for that long forgotten banana that lurks in the corner of my boy’s school bag. How do the German fruit flies get on? I bet they are almost extinct.

I fear that I am moulding another batch of entitled children for our community. I read in the SMH that we, as a society are creating a generation of children who are unable to wait for anything. They are almost always instantly gratified. Also that they have very little understanding of the value of anything because – (no fault of their own) they live in a throw-away world.

Resentment bubbles as my three sons sprawl out at different locations about the house reading their books, as I wash, hang out, iron, and sort their clothes, that I know for an absolute fact, some have not been worn this season, if in fact this year. Why aren’t I lounging about with my hands turning pages of a gripping story? Instead they are rolling paired holed-navy school socks together.

Tomorrow I will endeavour to bash out another chore list that has the perfect balance of tough manual labour, such as emptying the dishwasher, and the slave like conditions of having to make one’s own bed.

“We do these jobs, and then you don’t even pay us”

“I know my children…. It’s outrageous!”

I am tired of it.

I also think that elastic waisted pants have a lot to answer for.

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