The Boy is home on Christmas break. Poor child works so hard.
At least he thinks he does. Today, he staged a mini-revolt. He will do NO MORE CHORES.
Here's his list of chores he currently does, under duress:
- Takes out the trash and returns the cans to within thirty feet of the target return zone.
- Empties the dishwasher.
- Lackey boy to me. Like if he wants this for dinner? I ask him to get the ingredients out for me. Or I may ask him to get HIS dirty laundry and put it in the laundry room.
I rarely ask him to clean his room...that place scares me.
He occasionally takes a pile of his clean laundry that I have washed AND dried AND folded, and places it in a basket. It rarely stays in said basket - it's usually in a pile on the floor by the middle of the week.
He works so hard!
Well, today, he announced that he will not be doing any of these Herculean tasks tomorrow. Because it's just not fair. He doesn't want to live here anymore, The Mister and I are just too hard on him.
Cue the violins.
I suppose he wore himself out eating half the batch of cookies I baked yesterday, that sneaky fellow. Sheer exhaustion from overwork must have been the reason he snoozed on the sofa off and on until 12:30 this afternoon.
And when I asked him when I might take a break like him? He said, "When Hell freezes over."
He's fifteen...and clueless.
He doesn't realize that some kids his age HAVE to work - and they earn money to help support their family.
He doesn't think about the kids who don't even have a family to take care of their needs.
He's led the blissful home life a fifteen-year old toddler, and he's got the whining thing down pat.
Oh, 'tis true, my poor, little autistic/bipolar boy may never gain the skills necessary to hold down a full-time job. He may never live independently.
Our goal is to get him to be as self-sufficient as possible.
And when Hell DOES freeze over?
I'm gonna sip a margarita in my long johns and ask The Boy to make me a sandwich.