Who’s The Clever One Now?

Who’s The Clever One Now? February 10, 2018

Midweek I realized that all the children were waiting for me to get well so I could clean up after them. They would come and look at me sadly and then wander away to throw more garbage down on the floor, they would mutter about how there are no clean cups and no clean clothes, and they would anxiously ask me if I was feeling any better. It took me a while to connect all the dots, but Thursday afternoon, from under the sweaty depths of three whole blankets, my cloudy mind strung it altogether. “They’re waiting for me to get well,” I said to Matt. “They’re saving all the housework for me.”

Strangely enough, the weekend before my appalling descent into near death by flu, they had already lost all access to every single electronic device and screen for not picking anything up that they had heretofore thrown down, and for playing when they were told to clean up. In the middle of Sunday dinner Matt set down his fork and said, “That’s it. No electronics for the foreseeable future. I’ll let you know when they come back but it could be never.” The children gazed at him in an uncomprehending daze, understanding failing to pierce through the clouds of unknowing. They don’t ordinarily seem to be lacking in intelligence, but something seems to have befallen them to rob them of all speech comprehension.

Two days later one child tentatively inquired as to when the screens might come back. “When the house is clean,” Matt repeated. I chuckled from the couch. The child furrowed his brow and repeated the words as if he were trying to make out some other kind of language. Then he wandered away to throw down more garbage.

And there the matter has rested for what amounts now to a whole week.

As I said, everyone is waiting for me to get well and clean up. But I’m thinking maybe I won’t ever be well again. Maybe this is my life now–lying back on the couch, watching children throw their stuff down on the floor and then being sad because they have nothing to eat off of and nothing to wear. I mean, I am starting to feel better, but there’s no way I will ever admit it to any child who lives here. Not for another week at least.


Browse Our Archives