Yesterday was the first day of public school and everything went well EXCEPT the bus ride home. Tuxedo Cat got on the wrong bus home from the high school so he didn’t get home until 4pm. Apparently this year there is switching of buses involved and he not only got on the wrong bus to start with, but also switched to the wrong bus at the switch point. Thankfully the bus garage people were super polite with me when I called and were right on top of it to locate which bus he was on to get him home.
Then his teacher said she would see if arrangements could be made so he would only have to ride one bus. I’m not sure if that’s necessary since I think he would have been fine if she hadn’t have “helped” to start with. She didn’t realize that we live at “Grampa’s House” and that the address he gave her was the correct one until after she got him on the bus and called me! Let’s not pay attention to the paperwork I had already filled out the year before… But whatever, it was the first day of high school and hiccups like this always happen.
Little Bear rides the special services bus which has seat belts and an extra adult to make sure he minds himself. For the first time EVER he got off the bus in high spirits and didn’t proclaim how much he hates school. He even greeted the bus driver and monitor this morning with good cheer when they pulled up to our drive way. Imagine that. I never thought I would see the day.
I’m still waiting for Scholar Owl’s books to come in the mail, but his official first day of school isn’t until the first of September anyway. So yesterday he went with me to plan his health class and today we cleaned up the kitchen while listening to my dad rant about how we spend too much time on the computer.
He had also complained how he had to wash the dishes the last two times just so he could get some canning done. Scholar Owl looked at me with confusion because him and Tuxedo Cat had helped him with those dishes and I just shook my head. It’s just the mood my dad is in today. Sometimes it’s just best to leave things be.
As it is, he’s been pushing for the boys to start taking a turn cooking some nights and yup, he wants them to take his nights. If I recall, this is part of the reason the chore chart was such a fucking nightmare during our teen years. If my dad’s name was on that chart, he’d find a way to change it after awhile but if it wasn’t then the rest of us would cry foul.
And sure enough it wasn’t long before he was complaining how mom doesn’t do anything around the house. I know part of the reason is because her name isn’t barely on the chart but… out of everyone living here who is employed? Mom. Out of everyone living here who is attending school? The kids. So why are we trying to shove the household responsibilities off onto the people who have a ton of obligations outside of the household?
This never made sense to me. Male or female, if you are unemployed and a non-student then you earn your keep by taking care of the house. You let the workers work and the students study. End of discussion. This isn’t to say they can’t pitch in, but you get the bulk of it. They put their 6-8 hours (or more) in so you can too. Fuck that shit.
I felt the need interrupt his bitching and feed in my own rant about how I feel like I don’t have my own personal schedule while living here. I don’t feel organized with my life. I feel like everyone wants to dictate to me when I’m going to do stuff. Bear in mind I had to word this carefully so as to not make him feel attacked but also make it clear that I want to feel like I can live my life the way I want to and do what I want when.
I brought up how I used to have a fixed time for everything. Like a fixed time for cleaning. A fixed time for writing. And so on. And these times were the only times when those things were done. I don’t think he was fully listening because he went on this speech about how he felt dishes need to be done immediately after dinner and so forth.
No. I’m not going to spend the entire day doing nothing but cleaning the fucking house. NOT FUCKING HAPPENING. Even if I did, it would never be good enough. I learned that a long ass time ago. I’m slotting a fixed amount of time for that and THAT’S IT. No more and no less. What gets done in that amount of time is what gets done. Period. Fuck you if you don’t like it. Kick me out if you want. I will move if it comes to that.