Today I had jury duty. So, off I go to sit and sit and sit. My phone vibrates and I see it is my daughter. I text her “Jury Duty”. She texts back “Do you have a phone number for_____ casting director, I may be late.” No, just go on and if you are late you are late.” There is nothing else I can do to help. I am trapped at the courthouse.
A few minutes later my phone rings again. Again I silence it and look – it is my oldest son. I text him “jury duty”. He texts back “sick and can’t stop throwing up.” I am feeling trapped. There is nothing I can do for him either.
A couple hours later I am dismissed and I hit the doors calling my daughter back. She made it to the audition just a little late, but it didn’t matter. Then I call my son – still throwing up. So I go pick up medicine, crackers and ginger ale and head over to his apartment.
Apparently he and his roommate are playing a game of “Lets see how long we can go without washing a dish” or maybe it was an attempt to be on the series “Hoarders” with pizza boxes and chinese take out trash. Really – I didn’t raise him to be like this. Or maybe I did.
He knows I will clean up the mess. I always have cleaned up after him. When he was little, I tried the sticker chart to reward cleaning up or created a game – who can pick up the legos faster. He saw right through my ploy. No tactic ever worked to get him engaged into cleaning. He was smart enough to know – the mess bugged me not him, therefore if I didn’t like it, I would pick it up. And I did.
He is 22 now and I cleaned his apartment and hauled his dirty clothes home. I am enabling him. Pity whomever he marries. He is a slob. But I just can’t help myself. I feel better when I leave him, still not feeling well, but with clean sheets and counters and all the dishes washed and put away. I can’t help myself and he knows it. The kid has been running circles around me since he was little and still is.
At least he does it in clean clothes…….
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