I cook and clean. That’s what I do. It’s what I’m best at. I’ve been doing it for 14 years, without stopping once. I cook and clean in my sleep. Yep. I’m a cooker and a cleaner.

I realize that it’s a mother’s job and we do it with suuuuch selflessness and love we should be canonized. Try telling my family that.

I went to Colorado for a week on business. I hate coming home to a messy house, so I cleaned it well before leaving. I then left strict instructions for it to remain clean until I got home.

hahahahahahahaha! Were funnier words ever spoken?? I came home to a house that looked as if Lindsay Lohan had just come through after a night on the town. There were dishes overflowing in the sink. The bath was somehow, inexplicably black, like someone had washed a tar dog in there and didn’t bother to clean up afterwards. The living room contained every single item in our house, all strewn about the couch and love seat, and I kid you not, the walls. I’m not sure, but I think I might have had an extra kid running around under the clutter. I hope he found his way home.

So I did what any rational mom would do. I went to bed. I had to leave Colorado at 4:30 in the morning and now it was nearly five PM. I was exhausted and sore from so much time on the plane, not to mention the week spent in meetings and seminars and dinners and luncheons and brunches and cocktail parties.

But when I woke up the next morning I felt refreshed and decided to tackle the house. Since hope springs eternal, I decided to ask the boys to pitch in and help out. That was when the fireworks started. I honestly think I blacked out at one point. What I got was, “Awwwww, that’s not faaaaair.”

Now, I don’t know about you, but there are certain phrases that send me into an angry, vile frenzy. The top of that list is “That’s not fair” or any variation thereof. Life isn’t fair, bucko. Deal with it. Better you should start to accept it now than to grow up and find out the hard way. I don’t handle that phrase well. It epitomizes, to me, all that is wrong with the world today.

I took a deep breath and tried to push away the red. “Okay. Fine. Don’t help. I’ll do it myself.”

Now there are few forces more powerful on this earth than mommy-guilt. If they could figure out a way to harness the power of mother-induced guilt they could easily solve the energy crisis. They saw the look in my face and knew, instantly, the vultures were circling. They both were more than eager to help at that point. They backpedaled and proclaimed loudly that they didn’t really mean it. Of course they would help. Jacob even gave me a “Really, mom. I LIKE to clean!” and then I fell over laughing. No, I didn’t want that kind of help. I don’t want to guilt them into it. I pushed them out of the kitchen and began cleaning.

Every two seconds they came back in, begging to help. Literally? They were begging. I went off on a rant about how I felt it very little to ask, given the amount of work I do around here, not to mention my full time job and did I bring them something from Colorado? Yes, I sure did. Just like I brought them something from Vegas and Santa Fe and Orlando and every other place I’ve traveled in the past eight years. Did I make them brownies before leaving so they would have a nice, homemade snack even though I would be gone because Matt’s idea of cooking involves either fast food menus or Hamburger Helper? I seem to remember a nice hot pan of brownies wrapped up on the counter when I left. Did I not help them both clean their rooms just prior to my departure, despite the fact that no human should ever be subjected to the bedroom of a teenage boy? I believe I did. Did I not just have surgery a mere two weeks ago and I still have incisions and I am pretty sore and tired because of it? I recall that happening. By this time they were writhing in guilt. Writhing in it!

I decided to give in. Now the guilt was on the other foot. I felt horrible for being that mom. Against my better judgment we finished the house together. And by finished the house, I do mean they basically did what they felt would be the bare minimum they could get away with until I released them to go…I don’t know, practice the occult in the dark privacy of their own rooms, or whatever it is teenage boys do.

So clearly the guilt went away and they were fine with it. Not true for me. I owe Jacob $20 and there’s been a note on the bulletin board for over a week. (Hey, I’ve been out of town, okay???) So tonight, when I was going by there I noticed he had added, “But you don’t have to pay me if you don’t want to.”

AGH! They win every time. EVERY TIME! Do they take classes in this stuff?? Seriously?