Crabby is as Crabby does

I had Wednesday off this week to get a few things done around the house, get caught up on grad work and and get caught up on school work. I was humming along on those projects so well that I decided I deserved a nap. When I was woke up by the phone a short time later I decided I might as well pick up the main floor of our house. That turned out to be a bad decision.

I had been in a pretty good mood all day, but the more things I picked up, the more I realized I that almost everything I was picking up belonged to someone else. I live with a 45 year old, a 13 year old, and 11 year old and an 8 year old. All of those people are perfectly capable of cleaning up and picking up after themselves. I picked up cleats, socks, shin guards, books, notebooks, dirty clothes, water bottles, backpacks, lunch boxes, papers, markers, flip-flops, magic wands, hair ties, snack dishes, laundry, trash and recycling. In my frustration I took anything that wasn't mine and dumped it in the owner's bedroom. Unceremoniously.

I actually thought that bit might make me feel better. At least I wasn't taking care of it for them; I was just putting it where I didn't have to see it anymore. Unfortunately I didn't feel any better, so I tried a new tactic. I thought I'd go for giving myself a good talking to. I had been wishing, as I stomped around the house, that I lived alone. If I did, not only would my ipod be where I left it when I came back for it, but somebody else's ipod wouldn't be sitting on my counter when I wanted to prepare a meal on that counter. My new tactic for trying to shake off my bitter mood was to imagine what it would REALLY be like if I had to live alone.

Wouldn't I just feel awful if I suddenly had no family. Let's say (to avoid gross morbidity) that they were all whisked off to Mars tomorrow. Wouldn't I pine away after them wishing, to do anything, give up whatever, to have them back? Of course I would. If I was suddenly without them tomorrow, I would think that picking up their crap was a small price to pay for actually having my family with me.

That didn't work though. It never does. No matter how many close calls I might have with my family, or someone near us, and I have to try to remember what's really important, when they are on my last nerve, non of that Hallmark, forwarded email, post of the day crap does a bit of good. I'm still mad. No matter how much I love my family, I do not love being the maid. I do not love being invisible. And I do not love junk laying all over my house 20 minutes after I just picked it up.

Maybe this makes me a bad person (did you read my last post?!) but it's true. No amount of sweet thought is going to shake me out of feeling crabby about what I'm doing. Not even the guilt I felt for not shaking off the crabbiness when I remembered how much I love my family and would do anything if only the Martians would just give them back.

It's sad, but I'll tell you what would shake me out that mood. A hug and a kiss and a "Here, let me put that away for you."

Hmmmm, thank God for making them cute and snuggly.