Push-Pull

From zero to four boys in the house in just a few hours.

A week after my youngest moved home from college, my middle son came home from school for the summer. Then, two of his friends arrived to stay with us. Also, for the summer. All the boys have jobs and are playing a lot of ultimate frisbee. But I went from living alone to having four young men in my house in the blink of an eye. And in the first few days I muttered to myself more than once: why did I agree to this?

Even before my youngest went to college this year, he and I were living a pretty quiet life his last two years of high school. He is a gentle ripple of lake water lapping at the shore. His rhythms are familiar and comforting. The three other ones are a benevolent tsunami, not much by way of actual destruction but always leaving a sinkful of dirty dishes in their wake.

When I shuffled into the kitchen one morning last week to push start on the coffee maker, I noticed tall cups crusted with peanut butter and protein powder, the skillet caked with the remnants of scrambled eggs, and the thousands of smudged fingerprints on the refrigerator door that were not there yesterday. I bristled and then realized how used to solitude I have become.

I was on vacation for a week in the middle of June. The boys fended for themselves and took care of the dog. I made a tuna casserole, and my parents sent a sizable Chipotle gift card. I left a detailed chart of the daily chores for the dog and a last minute post-it with a rotating schedule for dish duty. When I arrived home, one of the friends said, “I’m so glad you’re home. Did you know that no one does the dishes?” I could only reply with, “I am well aware.”

I arrive home from work each weekday to find plates and cups overflowing from the sink. While I make dinner, I load the dishwasher. There are days when I am definitely tired and wish I didn’t have to do them. But most of the time, I don’t really mind. Maybe I don’t mind because one of the friends who has to be at work at 7am on most days empties the dishwasher every morning so this feels like a compromise. Maybe I don’t mind doing copious amounts of dishes every day because I know it’s temporary. Maybe it’s because some part of me still wants to take care of them.

I have set some boundaries. I have asked the friends to buy their own food. Because we are going through a gallon of milk every 36 hours, we rotate who buys milk and eggs that everyone uses. Once or twice a week I will announce, through a group chat, that I am making dinner and when it will be ready. I usually try to plan it around my youngest being home from work, but it’s up to the boys and their schedules to eat at that time or not. But the food is for everyone and there are very rarely leftovers. Once or twice all five of us have sat down for a meal all together. I enjoyed hearing all the updates about work, summer school classes, and grad school applications. If I don’t announce a meal, then everyone is on their own. I seem to not mind cooking if it’s on my own terms or not every night. But I cannot completely let go of mothering them.

A glass with a thin film of the last swallow of juice or Gatorade has been sitting on the dining room table for four weeks now. I think there might be a tinge of mold starting to grow. It’s my little experiment, my rebellion to the habit of taking care of things for them. I do not bus any dishes from the basement, where three of the boys have their rooms. And I am dead set on not touching that glass on the table. 29 days and counting.

This push-pull is not new. I have known it for as long as I have known motherhood. When the children are young, all a young mother wants for Mother’s Day is a break and time to herself. As the children start to find their own people and places in the world, all she wants is for the whole family to be together.

My house will be quiet again by the end of August. I will miss all of us cramming around the tv to watch the Star Wars series, Andor. I will miss hearing about their work struggles, summer school classes, and grad school applications. I’m not sure I will miss their never-ending amount of peanut butter and piles of shoes and frisbees. And I will enjoy sipping my coffee at my own table, clean and free of any moldy glasses.