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Columns > MomGamer > #81: St. George and the Dishes
Chores. The bane of everyone's existence.  "Young man! I said do your chore!" I can see it when you raise your head to look at me. The glint of sword-steel flashes back at me from green eyes, or maybe that's a drift of magical dust caught in your lashes. A thin waft of cannon-smoke rises from your hair. "Mom! I'm right in the middle of...." The plaintive complaint trails off. A fatal hand pointing to the kitchen is the only response. The thud of the controller hitting the coffee table or the book's closing has the ring of shod hooves on stone. With one of those eloquent teenage sighs you lever yourself off the couch cushions and stump into the kitchen with the awkward gait of someone shrugging their ill-seated armor back into place. I am honestly sorry. I wish you wouldn't look at me like that. I'd much rather be there, too. I have my own worlds I venture in. Like when you ask me a question at the wrong time and I accidentally answered you in Japanese. And who was it that dragged the family to Fellowship of the Ring all those times? Barsoom is awfully nice this time of year. I know it's part of the kid's collective store of wisdom that grown ups don't imagine stuff, but we do. Or maybe I never got the memo that said it was time to stop. I'd much rather just draw a cool symbol on the counter, place my hand on it, and have the dishes come clean in a flash of blue light. Then I could wave my magic wand a la Merlin and have them all walk into the cupboards. I was tempted to try it rather than nag you again but all I could find was a permanent marker and that would take forever to scrub off the countertop. It's too short to get the proper swish and flick into it, too. I know that time works differently while you're there. The few moments you feel like you spent in Midgar are in fact the entire hour I gave you when you solemnly promised me you'd do the dishes without me having to ask you again. Check the clock and see. It's weird. I think it's the same effect that can make 15 minutes of homework seem like two hours, only running backwards. In the end it can't be helped. My sympathetic wishing doesn't do much for either of us. Things have to be done and they have to be done in this world. So I'll reflect that hint of steel in your eyes back at you in my voice when I remind you for that third time. And the bloody dishes will get done. Think of it as a quest if it helps. It's not exactly a dragon to face, but dirty dishes are about as welcome and I'm sure even St. George spent a bit of time scrubbing his plate down at the stream while he was riding about.
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