Kimra Traynor Herb

Side
Streets
by
Kimra Traynor Herb
IPS Features

Help from the boys

My husband does not understand why it is that I become testy every time he travels away from home. Perhaps, he suggests, I could get the boys to help around a bit more at the house- relieve some of the pressures of day to day living through the increase in their work load. Maybe, he theorizes, I need to take some time with a friend and go to a movie? I glower at him at all suggestions. I adopt my "just go on; I'll be quite fine here" attitude which suggests quite the opposite.
I don't mean to be so ugly spirited. It's just..... I am jealous. I hope this doesn't make me seem like a bad mother or anything- but I want to get out of this place. I love my three boys to pieces, but really, cooking and cleaning up after this brood of males isn't always the rewarding stuff Hallmark cards are made of. My oldest, who works as a lifeguard, has taken recently to calling from work to query about the day's meals. "What are we having for dinner?" He'll ask.
"I was thinking about chicken casserole." I reply.
"Oh." His voice is dead, wooden, and then suddenly infused with hope. "If I buy something on the way home, will you reimburse me?"
You see, he no more wants to eat my meal than I want to shop for or prepare it. Still, he's making $7.50 an hour which is substantially more than I am getting paid to cook for him, so I tell him, sorry, he's on his own if he decides to foray into the world of fine dining outside the home.
Which brings me back to my husband and his expense account. Ah, that marvelous concept- an expense account. My hubby is not one to take advantage, like some, of this perk, however, he does often experience a dining setting substantially above the chicken casserole at the ole kitchen table. It's not that I begrudge him his meal- heck, I want it too! But I am torn apart at the seams at the thought that someone else is making his meal to his specifications, serving him (and then, this is the glorious, glorious ending) SOMEONE ELSE IS DOING THE DISHES.
My husband tells me that I should have the boys cook and clean up after dinner. Because, somehow the amount of yelling and direction I would have to give would more than make up for the fact that I missed out on a five star meal in a fine restaurant. Corn dogs with the boys, followed by yelling at them to "For God's sake, throw away your paper plates and get the ketchup off the table" would be EXACTLY the same experience as my husband's travel dining experience. In fact, if we threw in some ice cream at the end, and then I yelled at them to PLEASE put their sticky spoons and dishes in the dishwasher, I would probably think I was in Europe, or something.
My poor husband can't win this war with me, however. He asks me to travel with him all the time, but this pitiful band of children of mine can cope only so long without me here to yell at them- I mean, gently guide them. I have gone with him before, leaving my youngest with my mom, only to return to OUTSTANDINGLY HORRIFIC conditions in the home. Apparently, the concept of staying within the barest constraints of hygenic conditions is one lost on my two older boys, fifteen and seventeen years old. They eat a meal, push the dirty dishes to one side and have another meal. If the table become too crowded with dirty dishes at their seat at the table; why, no problem at all- they just move over to their father's seat and my seat and commence to pile dirty dishes in that area. When the entire table is full of dishes with remnants of Beefaroni and sandwich crusts, they just move on to the bar area and eventually to the dining room. I have never stayed gone long enough to see what would happen if the dining room table became too crowded with dirty dishes- would they start eating in the living room? Bedrooms? It gives me the heebie jeebies to even consider the horror of it all.

So, as I see it, my best bet is just to stay home with them and try to make the best of the situation. And if my voice gets a hair testy when my hubby calls to reflect on the wonder of some new glorious restaurant he has discovered in Glamourtown, USA, well, he's just going to have to get over it. It's hard not to be grouchy when you're the one left behind to shop for, cook and clean up the tater tots and fish sticks.