Writing Mom on Strike [RANT]

As National Novel Writing Month nears its midpoint, I find myself once more waging a battle with words. Will I find the right combination to keep myself interested in my project and reach the coveted goal of 50,000 words in one short month? So far, I am lagging by a whopping 7,000 words, so…

Not if my family has anything to say about it. Moms are held to very high standards. We also are expected to mix in an array of unexpected tasks with the ones that happen regularly. 

As of today, this mom is on strike, so she can write more and worry less. Want her to pick up the pan, whisk, broom, and sponge again? Then offer her a few tokens of appreciation:

1. Hugs and kisses are always appreciated (and they don’t always have to be from Hershey’s).

2. Don’t make mama repeat herself more than twice. If you don’t catch it the first time, listen closer so you understand the second time. Then please do what mama asks.

3. Make the effort to do some little things instead of leaving them for mom. Examples: throw away the wrapper from your snack, lightly rinse your plates and put them in the dishwasher, make your bed, put your dirty clothes in the hamper…

4. Clean up your own messes. If you played with the toys, you can put them back where they belong. If you pile your mail one mama’s counter, you could have easily put it in a more appropriate place—the trash, the recycle bin, maybe even your own to do pile…

5. Let mama take a break when she says she needs a break. She has been working at top speed on at least three things at a time most of the day, so let her sit when her body requests some rest. And, for the love of chocolate, don’t try to make her feel bad about it or immediately begin making requests the second her butt hits the couch cushion.

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Should I actually share this list with my dear family or does the need for the second statement indicate that it will fall on deaf ears? I have some experience with people being super determined to leave tasks for me. I came home from college for the weekend once to find every dish in the house piled up in the kitchen sink. Honestly, they had to use a step stool to put those last couple of layers on the pile because I had to use one and stretch to take them down and start the piles on the floor that cleared the sink out enough to start washing the vile mess, while the grey Persian cat complained that I took over his territory with my to-be-washed pile. At least I know he didn’t put any of those dishes onto the tower of filth.