A weekend morning, or perhaps afternoon, Miranda tolerates a little bit of Louise.
Miranda has been the nearly perfect child. I don't want to put pressure on her or make her egotistical, but she was always an easy and sensible child. She was a terrible challenge as a newborn and I didn't think I'd survive the challenges of night and day mixed up, no suck reflex, failure to thrive, and COLIC. Any parent who has dealt with colic knows that someone is going to die; whether it is the infant or the parent, the parent reaches the conclusion that someone has to go. I wanted to be committed to an institution during that time, but lo and behold, Miranda turned two months old ( or was it three?) and the non-stop hours of screaming ceased. She was transformed into a delightful baby, then child. Then Sam was born and we got a second one with colic, but that is another story.
When I hit puberty, my mom was beginning to go through menopause. Yeah, that was a fun household. I can now sympathize more with my mom and I just have to say, Miranda has no idea how easy she has it. Menopause hasn't started for me yet. Yes, not yet, though it's inevitable. I'm not looking forward to it though; it's like a disease that afflicts the whole family. But then, that applies to puberty as well.
Most of us remember our parents threatening, more like cursing us with, "Just you wait until you have kids!" As a kid, that threat doesn't produce much more than sighs and eye-rolling. As adults, those words can come back to haunt us.
Miranda is an awful lot like me, especially the awful parts. Really, I wasn't that bad overall. I wasn't one of those kids that was always getting in trouble, but I was moody and prickly. Much more so than Miranda is, but she definitely has some moody moments. Unfortunately she is most like me in her apathy. To be honest, I was lazy. I'm feeling rather "apathetic" today actually, and once done with this post I will probably plant myself somewhere and do very little that is productive. Now that I'm an adult, though, I have realized that little elves do not come out at night and do all the basic chores for us.
Miranda is the family slob, and that's kind of saying something around here. But she is the worst for dropping her shoes and bags right inside the front door and not putting them away. Nor does she believe in putting her laundry away and seems to think that she should just be able to keep her clothes (that I have folded), stored on top of the washer and dryer because her drawers are full, her closet is a mess, and I need to respect her privacy and not try to fix this problem. In her eyes, it isn't a problem. She also leaves dirty dishes, salt shakers, and garbage ( or recycling), lying on the coffee table. Dirty clothes are thrown behind the bathroom door, on top of a large bag of makeup that is never zipped and put away. However, if Sam were to get into that bag,( and Sam is a girl and loves makeup, too, and doesn't have any respect for boundaries and other people's property), Miranda would be livid.
Miranda doesn't do chores. This is my fault. I remember being so angry that my little sister got out of doing stuff around the house just by being totally unpleasant. I couldn't believe that my mom would give in and do the dishes herself because she couldn't tolerate finding dirty dishes ( or ones that had been chipped as my sister slammed them in the sink) put away in the cupboards. I thought that was lame. I felt cheated. Shame on me. It was my mom who was cheated and now I understand. She was tired. Physically and emotionally tired. And I'm sure she was tired of playing the bad guy. So Miranda has to unload the dishwasher ( big whup), and occasionally gets asked to take out the compost pail. Last night's response to that request was a sigh and a dire look as she muttered, "Dad better get a bigger bucket next time". (That is because we all know I plan on replacing our compost bucket, which is chipped, for Father's Day). Why Miranda cares is anyone's guess, because she only takes out the bucket about four times during the month when it usually goes out about once a day.
Mick went to a Trailblazers' play-off game last night. Miranda had play practice until 6:00. This meant that Mick wasn't here to pick her up and I had to go get her in the pick-up. I hate that thing. It's like driving a tank and each time I drive it I love my minivan, without embarrassment, even more. I'm always afraid that I'm going to get pulled over for drunk driving just because I tend to drive over the corner of the sidewalk each time I have to turn. The point is, though, I'm the one who has to drive it. So later on last night, Miranda says to me, "Do you know if the Blazers won or not? I'm just wondering how many more times you're going to pick me up in that ugly truck." Charming.
This Friday Mick and I are going to Seattle to finally pick up our stuff from the barge. The girls don't have school that day. I don't know why, but they don't. In-service, progress reports, who knows? We're not making them go with us, though, because they would be absolutely bored and miserable. And that would punish us more than it would punish them. So Katie, our respite worker, will come over some time in the morning. I'm not about to make her be here at 7:00 a.m., though. She's a young college girl. I'm not that cruel. But apparently I am. Because Miranda's words to me this morning, in a very glum tone were, "Well...I don't suppose I get to sleep in on Friday." No, honey, you don't. You don't because you sleep like the dead. You sleep like a kid that used to live above a very noisy bar that stayed open all night. And Sam sleeps like an autistic person. If anything, she gets up even earlier on days that she doesn't go to school so that she has more time for her art and music. Mick and I can't sleep through Sam, but Miranda could. So if Miranda slept in, who knows what Sam would do or where she'd be?
I will let her sleep in on Saturday and Sunday. I may even let her sleep until noon. But for a few hours on Friday morning, before Katie arrives, Miranda will have to hold down the fort. I know she can do it. She may do it grudgingly, but she will do it. She did most of Sam's personal care while I was in Pelican helping Mick to pack up. I was never so pleased as when she said, "I never realized just how much you have to do". I never realized how much my mom did either. Truthfully, she did much more than I do because she worked outside the home full-time and kept her house much cleaner than mine. I wish those elves existed and would do all the dirty work in the middle of the night, but they don't. I wish my daughter was more willing to clean up and help with household chores, but she isn't. And now I understand that my mom was tired of always being the bad guy.
Miranda is a great kid. We share a lot of the same interests and often share the same taste. Our opinions and views are very similar. Perhaps not toward housework, but other things. Yes, I want her to help without me having to be the bad guy. And if she doesn't start I may curse her with that famous and powerful mother's curse, "You just wait until you have kids! I hope they're just like you!"
Miranda, my great companion, humored me in Dallas City Park one early Spring afternoon by letting me take pictures of her.
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