It’s a matter of control

You know what I miss?  I mean, besides walking.

Control.

For a control freak like me (my ex would be nodding his head about now), it is very difficult to rely on others.  VERY difficult.  Add to that the fact that I am relying on teenagers.  That’s almost a joke.  Bless their little hearts, they are trying.  Not succeeding, but trying.

It’s things like my request that they feed the animals.  I had to amend my request to say “feed the dogs AND THE CATS.”  To them, the term “animals” was vague and not all-inclusive.  I then further amended my statement to say “feed AND WATER the dogs and the cats” because when I asked if the animals had water, they looked at me like I was crazy and said, “You didn’t say anything about water.”  Oh geez.  Then I further had to amend my statement to say, “Feed and water the dogs and the cats EVERY DAY.”  They’re geniuses, I tell you.

Even after all of that, this morning after they left for school, the dog was whining at the back door and the cat was darting in and out of my crutches, obviously UNFED.  Chances for water are pretty slim too.

They also don’t seem to understand that the mail is delivered EVERY day.  Thank you for getting the mail on Monday.  Yes, it was thoughtful and I do appreciate it.  Do you mind walking, on your two feet, I might add, back out to the mailbox to retrieve the past two days mail?  That would also be helpful.  

More than once over the past couple of weeks, I have been accused of not being appreciative.  And truly, they have helped in many ways.  LoverBoy and his girlfriend made a grocery run for me.  He’s washed a few loads of clothes and cleaned up in the kitchen once or twice.  MonoBoy fetches the occasional glass of ice tea for me and turns out my light when I crutch my way into bed.  In their minds, they are being extremely helpful.  In my mind, they are merely one chore above being simply IN MY WAY.

I want to applaud them for their efforts, but what I really want is for them to anticipate a need and fill it.  Before I have to ask.  Four times.  Then pitch a fit.

I want them to understand that this is difficult and I’m not just hanging out on the couch with the remote for fun.  As hard as it is to believe, I would prefer to wash clothes or vacuum rather than just sit around like a lump, merely counting the animal hair tumbleweeds that blow across the carpet.  I would prefer to resume my normal life of shuttling them around and taking care of stuff.  Then I know it gets done.  But I can’t.  Not without suffering a potential heart attack.

Three times this week, I received texts from boys asking me to deliver forgotten items to the school, like basketball shoes or soccer cleats.  We are close to the end of the school year, and they still forget that they have PE every day.  They are dumbfounded when I refuse to get up from my desk, hobble to the car, drive to my house, hop around all of the landmines in their room searching for clothes, drive up to their school, hobble all the way to the school office to deliver their clothes, then hobble back to my car to drive back to work and hobble back to my office.  To me, that sounds like they are asking me to participate in an Iron-Man Competition.

One day this week, LoverBoy got in touch with his grandmother to bring his soccer clothes and shoes.  She left her oxygen, loaded up two toddler girls, drove his stuff to the school, and delivered it to the school office with two little girls asking “why” about everything that they saw.  I’m gonna guess that she felt like she had run a marathon as well.  That’ll teach her to answer her phone.  And since she brought him the wrong stuff, hopefully it will teach him to remember his stuff!

To those of you that have a spouse that can pick up the slack at home, I have never hated you more than I do this week.  Sorry.

Don’t worry, though.  I’ll get over it.  As soon as I am able to walk and turn off lights for myself without killing myself on the way back to the bed.  As soon as I’m able to walk to the kitchen with a glass in my hand and rinse it out in the sink.  And as soon as I’m able to vacuum the tumbleweeds off of the living room carpet.

As soon as I gain some control.

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