Striking Out

Just as I was heading into the street, picket signs in hand, Chris came home on Wednesday and put me to bed. I ended my strike having been granted half a sick day, and that evening, I was back to doing the dishes again.

Speaking of dishes and other household chores, it is very common for Foreign Service families to have "helpers"-- maids, nannies, drivers, gardeners, etc. We do not have any of these such entities at our house. My "helpers" are Jacob, who is pretty handy with a vacuum, Benjy, who knows how to handle a dusting rag, and Chris, who does whatever I tell him. I'm thinking of recruiting Andrew into the mix, just as soon as I can figure out how to keep dusting rags strapped to his knees. But then again, my ingenuity would be futile as soon as he learns to walk.

The truth is, I am not morally opposed to helpers. On the contrary, I would welcome them into our home, if only they were cheap. You would think that this would be the case since the talking heads are always talking about how Mexicans "steal" U.S. jobs by hanging out in front of Home Depot and doing work that "regular Americans" don't want to do. If this were true, I would be able to hire someone relatively inexpensively and proceed with my life of luxury. However, help would actually cost us about $6-7 U.S., and we would be required to provide them with a severance package upon our departure. In short, if I want help, I need to get a job myself to pay them.

You see, everyone makes choices in life. When we were deciding between kids and money, we chose kids. Chris argues that he didn't realize that was the choice. Poor guy. I think he envisioned having three little golf caddies, not three milk guzzling, granola bar loving, human garbage disposals.

Let me explain. Every afternoon when Jacob gets home from school around 4 p.m., his first words to me are "I'm so hungry." He then proceeds to the kitchen where he spends the next three hours trying to consume everything in the pantry and refrigerator. Benjy tags along on this foraging expedition and tries to eat his weight in snacks as well. Then they eat dinner and go to bed, and the next day it starts all over again. I hear that this is only going to get worse as they get older.

Human Garbage Disposal In Training

(And I don't even want to talk about how long a pair of pants lasts on Jacob. It's a good thing he enjoys the breeze on his knees from his ripped jeans.)

One day Chris may come home to find me clutching a dish rag and crying in the corner. That will be the day we break down and hire help, but probably for just once a week. All I know is that cheap help will certainly be a priority for bidding on our next post.

As for the dishes, I'm done with washing them by hand. Our dishwasher, which was broken when we moved in, has now been fixed. I'm giving my strike the credit for that too.

It's so hard to find good help.