Mic Drop (Into the Dishwater)

   I was in that awful place, the place of fire and smoke, where the gnashing of teeth goes on and on, where there is weeping in the outer darkness.

   So, there I was, in the kitchen, washing my new set of mixing bowls. I had finally managed to chip, crack, and stain my old ceramic set into a state fit only for potted plants, so I had ordered new ones. The new bowls are shiny stainless steel, the kind that will not shatter no matter how many times I accidentally fling them onto the floor. They are colorful. They have lids. And pulling them out of the Amazon box was the highlight of my week.

    "What does this say about us?" my Buddy asked as we oohed and aahed. "I'm unreasonably excited about my new pots and pans. Is this what being an adult is?"

    "They're shiny!" I cooed.

    "Is this who we are now? Is this middle age?"

    
   I digress.
   We solved the existential crisis - shiny! new! cookware! - and I was standing at the kitchen sink, lovingly washing my new bowls, when my 8 year old son stormed into the room with a furious scowl.
   "I," he declared, "DO EVERYTHING IN THIS HOUSE."
   Silence.
   With immense self control, I continued to wash the bowl. I believe in allowing kids to experience Irony. My dear buddy had to turn around so that he would not see her laughing.
    "You do everything in this house?" I asked.
     "Yes," he sighed. "Why do I have to do all the work?"
     "Well, we do appreciate the fact that you clean everything," I said, rinsing the bowl and stacking it, lovingly, with the other. "We would never have any clean dishes if you didn't wash all of them."
     His brow furrowed. He looked at the dishes. He looked at me. "Well - "
    "And where," I went on, "would we be if you didn't shop for all the groceries and make sure we had healthy food when we needed it?"
     "I didn't mean - "
     "I'll bet you vacuum all the rooms," my buddy added, helpfully.
     "Don't forget the laundry! I really am grateful that you do all the laundry in the house. I like having clean pajama pants to wear when I go to the grocery store."
      "MOM!" he cried, exasperated. "I mean that I do so much! I tided the living room and the music room! I swept the floor!"
     "I can see that. I appreciate that. And I'm glad that you are helping Daddy take all the trash to the recycling center right now."
     "I'm trying to tell you," my medium-sized man concluded, "that I FEEL like I do everything."
     "Ah. Well." I dried my hands. "I'm sorry that you are frustrated by your chores. I understand that they can feel overwhelming. We can discuss your responsibilities later, but I need you to hear what you just said. You just informed me that you feel that you do everything, yes?"
   "Yes!"
   "And do you perform all the tasks in the house?"
    He pondered. "No... but I feel - !"
   "Kid, I get how you feel. I hear you. But I need you to understand something; how you feel is not an objective reality. Reality isn't changed by your feeling. Your feelings are valid, but they aren't the same thing as true."
     Then I dropped the mic into the soapy dishwater.
     (If only. That would have been fabulous.)

     Instead, I went back to my bowls. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"
     He sighed. "Yes."
    "We can talk about your level of chores later, okay?"
    "Okay."
     "Great. Now, run along and play. I need to call the White House Press Secretary."