And here I thought I was doing everyone a favor. I was teaching my children an important life skill for which their future spouses/housekeeper at the Rectory/Convent would adore me … plus make my domestic life a little easier. Turns out I set myself up for even larger problems than the forgotten ballpoint pen, homework assignment or jumbo pack of Double Bubble bubblegum.
There was a time in life, oh, let's call it the, "Middle School Years" — otherwise known as the "Dead Communication Years" — when everything I knew about my children I learned from emptying their pockets. I'd sit on the floor in my laundry room and discover my son liked sour gummies, but not Cheese On Wheat crackers. I got up to date on his Science scores and homework assignments. I knew who was a dork and his best friend's dad's office number.
I knew how short a pencil could be sharpened and still be useable. My daughter's pockets shined light on who was "going with" whom and every other 8th grader's cell phone number, Yahoo password and locker combo. I knew what both kids thought of me or their father on any given day — because you know it changes daily depending on their mood, the weather or if I forgot to buy SugarBomb Cereal.
So what was I thinking when I put out the ultimatum to both kids: "Empty your own pockets before bringing me your dirty clothes or do your own laundry!" And why was that THE fastest life skill/new habit they ever mastered?
I taught them to clean their bathrooms; scrub their own toilets. That the health department frowns upon black rings around the bowl and growing science experiments on shower curtains. And yet the Tidy Bowl Man would die from mildew poisoning in 2.5 seconds in any Rinehart kid's bathroom.
And yet they empty their pockets. And I remain in the dark about their personal lives.
I taught them to put their shoes on when they go outside — no matter how short a distance they're walking. So who's the mom at the Socks without Partners Meetings whose single white socks have permanently gray and thinning bottoms? Me.
And yet they empty their pockets. And I remain in the dark about their personal lives.
I taught them where our kitchen trash can is located; how to properly place trash in said can — even take the full bag outside (with their shoes on) to the Mothercan and replace the inside bag. Our kitchen trash can is 6 steps from our family room. And yet I lift up the couch and chair cushions in search of the remote control or dog's anti-nausea medicine and find candy wrappers, used dental floss, old flash cards, bread crusts, and empty Tic Tac containers.
And yet they empty their pockets. And I remain in the dark about their personal lives.
Well, at least I know they're flossing.