The Upside of Piggy Kids

My son made dinner yesterday. No, not for my husband and me. Rather, just for himself—in the middle of the night. From the looks of the debris, he made a large pot of pasta and sauce, accompanied by two of my Weight Watchers frozen dinners, a variety of leftover veggies, and several bowls of cereal. He used three pots, five cereal bowls, two dinner plates, three glasses, and almost every piece of silverware in the everyday drawer. He’s 20, but the way I felt this morning when I first saw the sink and the counter and the floor—and the chair and the table in the family room—he would’ve been lucky to see 21.

But there’s a plus to having a slob for a kid. And I have two, although the second one is now in San Francisco. I also have a husband whose name really should be Oscar. Not only have I become very good at digging out of messes, washing dishes, and removing stains and dried-on unidentifiable substances from all types of surfaces, I’ve also learned how to control my temper and my stress level. Not by burning incense and listening to Yani on my iPod. Not by chanting Om and concentrating on a little light flickering somewhere in the back of my brain. Not by turning off the overhead and scrubbing by candlelight.

What I do is picture all the ways I could murder my son. And while I'm at it, I imagine all the ways I could manipulate the evidence to make the other two look guilty. (I might as well take care of all three problems at once!) I’ve come up with some wonderful plot ideas this way. And if I can’t immediately use any of the ideas, at least the fire they spark in me often results in a day or two of very productive writing.

Oh, that son in San Francisco? The last time I visited him, I spent my entire vacation cleaning his apartment. He needed the super to fix a leak and had been putting off calling him because of the mess. That trip resulted in several months' worth of innovative plot ideas!