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Only Myself To Blame

I got delivered a smack in the reality today. This afternoon I didn't have enough time to take the boys skating or play at all. I made Doc a snack, paid bills, hung loads of laundry on the line and then went out to get Kit from an after school program before making supper, getting it on the table and then scrubbing through the day's stack of dishes. I made sure Tio got to his homework, gave him facebook time, pushed both boys through their reading before reading Doc stories in bed, assuring him that the doctor wasn't going to cut off his head at tomorrow's appointment, as Tio had suggested, he was just going to make sure the congestion in his cough was harmless.

While I was fishing around behind the TV trying to untangle a problem with the cable and Internet so both boys could indulge in their favorite screen time, I heard Tio in the kitchen ask, "Who did the dishes?"
I suspect he wanted to complain about a speck on a spoon.
"Who do you think did them?" Tish asked.
"I don't know," he said, digging a hole.
"Who usually does them?" she asked pointedly.
"I don't know," he said.
I leaned out from behind the wires. "Really? You don't know who did tonight's dishes? Are you kidding or do you really not know who does the dishes every night?" I figured that hint was a gimme.
"I really don't know." He said with his own brand of confident assurance.
Really. With his foot already so far down his throat, I was surprised there was room for the other one.

For a second, I was taken aback to learn that I'm that invisible. I can accept being taken for granted at times but to not even be seen? I recalled him handing me a bowl while I was up to my elbows in suds only a half hour earlier.

I didn't launch into the liturgy of what I do for them. I didn't tell him he should respect me more or be thankful for what I do. I said, "Starting tomorrow, you'll be doing the dishes."

I should have done that months ago.