It’s my privilege.

I left the kids with instructions for chores and got into the shower this morning. When I was finished, those jobs still were not finished. I gave reminders and headed to get dressed… Then I sat in the bedroom with my phone – because they needed every opportunity to obey. Or I was because I needed a break. Jury’s still out. 

Because, my friends, by 8am I’d fined three of my dear children each the price of ham and cheese for their father’s sandwiches for a week. I’d walked into the kitchen, found kids working on schoolwork at a table with lukewarm deli meat and cheese while no one bothered to put it away. They’d argued about who should and then no one decided to give in and make the 12 foot trek to the refrigerator. The meat and cheese spent the night on the table because no one wanted to acquiesce and be the one to put it away, and still they ignored it.

I lost it a little. I’m tired of disrespect to things that do not directly cost them time, effort, or money. I haven’t decided if I’ll make them actually be the one to hand over their hard earned dollars to the cashier. Seems fair, and yet. Painful.

Happy Monday to me. Gonna be a fun one. So there I was, hiding out in the bedroom. Elliot had a temper tantrum the likes she’d never dare throw if I weren’t in the shower while I’d been away. I found out later it was over getting dressed. Of course. We all scream about wearing pants, right?

I was not feeling prepared to do much more mothering today. A head cold was wrapping up its symptoms but still leaving me exhausted and I just didn’t feel like it.

A quick scroll through Facebook was not edifying. It was full of stated posts commenting on women protesting privilege – what exactly that means, I’m not sure that they’re even sure, since we live far more privileged than most of the world, unless you’re unborn, of course. Then you risk being torn apart and tossed out in the name of convenience, burden, or a multitude of other reasons I can’t fathom as reasons anyone could justifiably quiet their conscience enough to not give their child every chance at life.
Perspective. Pity party over.

My day may even require another lecture or three to children who aren’t yet mature enough to not fight about who puts the ham away. I’ll likely need to remind them again and again of the same things.

But – it’s my privilege.