Slave Girl

One disappointing thing I have noticed being home more often is how the kids sometimes treat their mother like she’s their personal servant. When I intervene usually both the servant and master are unhappy, so I usually bite my tongue. She views service to the kids as her primary role. But sometimes it is just too much. Last week Ryan was calling “mom” repeatedly from the family room couch. When she didn’t respond after a few hollers he whistled for her. That was too much for me. As I was reprimanding Captain Von Trapp, Kara came. “Someone whistle?”

Last week Ryan was headed out the back door (apparently to swim) and he yelled, “Mom, I need a towel” then went out. So he remembered, and we always have a lot of towels in the downstairs closet, but it would have been fifteen feet out of his way. She fetched it for him.

When he came inside I asked him why he hadn’t gotten his own towel. He said he was in a hurry. Admittedly, the swim was quick, but he had slept in until 10 and now he was cooking bacon. I’m not making this up. What was it? A pork emergency? He barely had time to play two hours of video games before work. I guess it could have been worse, he could have asked Slave Girl to make the bacon too.