My Labor Day
This post has nothing to do with labor prior to childbirth. I can’t remember that far, far back. It’s about that one day when all of me was 100% on the job. Yet everything went wrong and I had no scapegoat.
Ate Vi was due back from her summer vacation. No show.
The two temps who helped with household chores were to come early. No show.
My boys had all left for work and I was left at home holding the (doggie) bag. Attorney, JR’s dog, stared at me and I stared right past her. What do you want?
Oh, breakfast. So I rustled up left-overs and served her a plateful. She stood still, fixing her gaze at me. On a diet?
I moved to the kitchen to tackle the pile of dirty dishes everyone left on the breakfast table.
I’d rather do something else, I said to the suds on my hands, especially when I got to the pots and pans. I had not turned on my computer; my primed canvas was waiting for the first dash of paint; the books I was reading stayed untouched on my bedside table.
Tough luck, today housekeeping is what you do, the suds might have replied.
Dishwashing done, I dashed to the bedroom to make the bed and neaten the place. That should be a cinch, but the scorching temperature hovering over 40 degrees Celsius made me itch all over. I picked up one of my three back scratchers to ease my triple-deck prickly heat.
On to dust the furniture and sweep the floor, sweat drenching my clothes. Back scratcher to the rescue!
What to do about lunch? I scraped off the cold omelet from a pan, and gleaned some diced carrots from yesterday’s dish. Unfortunately, the left-over rice smelled funny so I turned my sight on the solitary pandesal.
The afternoon temperature rose further. Attorney had not touched her breakfast so I didn’t serve her lunch. I mixed some doggie pellets into her uneaten breakfast, though, and close to panic, I texted Tony, “Ate Vi has not arrived, the two girls did not come, and the dog won’t eat.”
He texted back, “She’ll eat when hungry.”
I was hungry, but I didn’t eat. If you had my kind of lunch, would you?
Six PM, the furnace that was our home had not cooled down. The cleaning, scrubbing, and scouring took forever, so I called up a neighborhood restaurant and ordered supper. (Actually the real reason was, I can’t cook; so shoot me.)
I will beg the boys to use plastic spoons and fork, and paper plates. This was my best idea for the day.
While I was throwing away the used plastic wares, the doorbell rang. It was Ate Vi!
Before I could collapse, grace ended my labor day happily ever after.
P.S. I am now in awe of housekeepers in all shapes and forms.