How did I become a slave in my own palace?

I have three delightful children. When I say delightful I mean this description comes to me from other people with whom they have come into contact because usually at home they are not what I would describe as delightful. Unless there is only one of them home at a time. Which doesn't happen very often.


Anyhoo, it is school and university holidays at present. Which seems to involve a lot of lying about on couches, watching tv, playing the x box, Wii, or on a laptop 'talking' to friends.  It does not, however appear to involve anyone asking the very simple yet effective question 'would you like me to help you with anything, mum?' as I run around like a blue arsed fly catering meals, ensuring that the jeans they wore for two hours are washed clean again, driving them hither and yon, and generally being a doormat.


To be fair, Harry my youngest, has now taken to asking this question because yesterday I lost my mind, screamed and stamped my feet so much I had a small bladder leakage problem, and stormed off, sending myself to my room.


The reason for this outburst was something which has happened before many times but I had reached the limit of my endurance. HOW DID I BECOME A SLAVE IN MY OWN PALACE????!!!


I was out taking Billy to have his first drivers licence test (in qld they like everyone to do it twice it seems) and had to leave a load of washing to finish. Elle was on her way home from the boyfriend's house where she had spent the previous two days so I called her and told her that there was washing in the machine and asked her to hang one of the flannelette sheets over the patio table in the full sun seeing as the clothes line didn't get much sun.


When I got home she had hung said flannelette sheet out - and the washing machine was still full of wet sheets and dooms covers. Wtf? Her excuse was that she thought I wanted the rest to go into the dryer. So why not put them in? I lost it. Both boys were by this stage on couches tvs on, she was in her bedroom which looks like a candidate for hoarders. 'I could be married to you if you're going to be so thoughtless' I screamed at her. Oh dear that's a bit of a giveaway.


I flounced off to cool down of a few minutes. They all looked slightly terrified I was going to have an aneurism.


I reeled off a list of jobs. Washing to be hung out. Dry washing to be brought in and folded. Bins to be brought up from the road. Recycling to be taken out. Three animals to be fed. Mail to be collected. And I shouted 'I refuse to be a slave in my own palace'. Then just for good measure I added, with a tiny bit more shrill in my voice 'and I am having the tattoo on my forehead that says 'doormat' removed.' then I poured myself a large glass of wine trying not to feel guilty about failing dry July on both the 1st and 2nd days of the month.


Seriously how did this happen? How did I allow my children to become these people. And my husband, who when I say 'could you put the kettle on' does just that and then wanders off. I seem to be responsible for everything big and small that needs doing. Well not anymore. I am going to get a poster made with my new slogan and put it up in each room of the house and start exercising my 'no' muscles


AMFYOYO