I have recently come face to face with the certainty of my own importance. I am the only one in the family who knows how to put the new toilet paper roll on the roller. I can tell the difference between the decaf coffee and regular, just by looking at the color of the can. I know where to find our camera, our passports and the replacement bags for the vacuum cleaner. I am the only one who knows where the cordless phone is stationed.
My presence is required to change the temperature of the water in the washing machine. I know how to reinsert the lint screen in the dryer, and have miraculously figured out how NOT to wash Chap Stick, chewing gum, hard candy and hand written notes.
I can recap the maple syrup without using my tongue. I can always find the frozen loaves of bread in the freezer, pickles that hide in the far reaches of the refrigerator, cheese that is out of sight in the cheese drawer. I can scrape peanut butter off the sides of the jar, and never forget to tighten the salad dressing container before shaking. I am widely known for my noodles with butter recipe.
I retain important classified information regarding which days the garbage men come, when the recycling bins should be dragged to the street and how to cancel the newspapers when we go away from home.
I never forget to feed the dog, lock the doors or flush the toilet.
I am not bragging. I don’t expect anyone to nod their head in appreciation. None of these things are on my resume. They are not impressive or even remarkable. Until you try and do without them.
I never realized how important I was until I went away for a few days.
Now, I know.
I am the ring leader.
I am the conjurer of nutrition and food sustenance, the lead scientist in the laundry laboratory, and I maintain the mainframe of information on household scheduling and management.
Someone, get me a baton.