Mother Goose on Turkey Day

After the big meal as we were closing down for the night, my daughter remembered the assignments given for completion over the long weekend and she moaned, “I can’t wait to be a grown up and have no more homework. My free time will be my own.”

Speaking up and shattering that illusion would have been cruel so I held my comments but writing all of this up and trying to carve out a article with a gut filled with stuffing, cranberries and turkey, I mused over the apparent momentary existence of free time. I was writing on my computer. I was momentarily free. Blogging was a form of mental jogging for me, when the rest of the world would fall away in the process. It was liberating. It was a release. It was…then my oldest son came into the room and said, “Can I update my Facebook?”  and I pointed out that we still had dishes to do. 

"It's too many for just me." he explained. 

"You're in luck.  You have three sisters and a brother capable of helping."

"But Mommmmm, we're on vacation." came the chorus.  "I'm too full." said another.  They suddenly felt the weight of the meal kicking in..."Why didn't we use paper plates?"  "Why did you make all this food?"  "When I'm grown up, I'm making pasta and cresent rolls and that's it."   said one.  Another agreed.  Making a mental note not to go to their house for dinner on the fourth Thursday in November, I insisted that as I took care of the dishes regardless of the dish roughly 360 days out of the year, this was hardly outlandish.  

"But we're on break." they clamored. 
I turned back to the computer and  said, "Me too."

There was danger of a mass mutiny but I held one ace in the hole.   "There are four pumpkin pies and two apple ones.  You little kittens shall have no pie until the dishes are done."