The day after Mom’s day

Mother’s Day was such a warm fuzzy day: breakfast in bed, Sunday dinner at the restaurant and greeting cards.
Welcome to Monday at Mother’s Day.
The junior high student wrote the fantastic card has to be reminded three times to bring his clothes to be washed. The teen who took Mom to get a burger is too busy to mow the lawn. And that darling sixth-grader who gave Mom a lovely coupon book good for setting the table, can’t be bothered to have it cashed in today.
That’s how it is, unless mothers decided to do as one of my friends did. She went on strike.
“I decided that moms have rights, too,” she told me.
“The strike was an accumulation of things: their lack of helping out, even bringing clothes downstairs to be washed. Their general attitude was that I didn’t know anything and that they didn’t have to do anything I told them to do. They assumed I had to help them, but they didn’t have to help me. I finally had had enough of it. I decided ‘if they don’t have to do what I want them to do, then I don’t have to do what they want me to do.”
So she didn’t.
She gave them an envelope of cash for the week’s groceries. “There’s your money for your food. I will be using these dishes. Do not touch my dishes. Not even if yours are dirty.” She handed them a list of things they needed to do and she went to her room.
“It was the most relaxing time of my life. I read books, watched movies and slept. My blood pressure probably went down 20 points.”
The kids went into shock.
Cash in hand, the four stumbled blindly to the grocery store. They all wanted a different kind of food. They didn’t have enough money to buy half of it.
Terse, heated discussions were held in the aisles four, five, six and seven before they finally worked out a compromise.
Unlike when Mom did the shopping their grocery sacks were filled with mixes and quick foods. The instant meals only lasted a few days unlike when Mom did the shopping.
Mom cooked her food in a cluttered kitchen shoveling. She shoved aside their dirty dishes with food. Mold grew over the mashed potatoes in a pan on the back of the stove. My friend saw it, took a deep breath and walked away. It was their problem, not hers.
Friends told her children, “Moms don’t go on strike!” When the child listed what they had to do, they begged, “Please don’t tell my mom about this.”
As reality set in, they studied the rotation system she had laid out.: mow the law, vacuum the house, wash the clothes, shop for groceries and fix meals.
They wanted to pick and choose the job. The swapped chores until the oldest sister realized she had the bulk of work. It only took her a couple of days of being a mom before she joined the mom on strike. A few days later, the next younger sister joined them.
Three weeks and much talking passed before the entire family had negotiated a settlement with Mom. The strike ended and Mom with the entire family’s help, returned to work.