I start each day with a large handful of carefully selected vitamins that I take after breakfast and I absolutely hate doing it. I hate swallowing pills; hate the slight smell and the time it takes. But so what? Life’s not about doing what one always wants to do; sometimes we have to do what is necessary.

My kids resist doing most things on a good day. I have to teach them about simple responsibilities, accountability and doing what needs to be done.

They hate homework, don’t want to work all day in school and then come home to more papers. Part of the problem with some of my children is their lack of understanding of the very basics of academia. While their classmates spout off the multiplication tables, mine worry that Big Mama is off gallivanting even when they’re fairly sure I’m home washing clothes and fixing their supper. But their very deep primal fear prevents them from truly believing that I’ll always be there, so they fret when they should be paying attention in class.

OK kids, cooking isn’t really my thing either but it’s something I do because I’m supposed to do it every day, my own sense of what needs to be done outranks that devil sitting on my shoulder telling me to sit and do crossword puzzles.

Worse than cooking though is my desire to not push a broom, not do the dishes, just skip past the mountains of dirty laundry on my way out the back door where I could merrily play in my garden all day long, forsaking food and water just because I prefer to muck around in the dirt.

Tough toenails though, my responsibilities make me do what needs to be done first, and then I reward myself with garden time, yet I might as well bark at the moon every night, so difficult is it for me to get this across to my children.

“Watch me, y’all,” I’ll holler as I hang out the ten millionth load of laundry, “This is how you do it.” Duh, then I’m off to the next task while they look at me like I’m an idiot for working so hard, they wander off, out of my path, hoping I won’t notice but I do.

Just as I check PowerSchool to make sure their assignments are turned in, I email the teachers and I check under their beds for dirty laundry and stray dogs, I’m going to continue the hard work spiel until I see results. I am way more stubborn than all of them put together and I will win this war.

This is a mama’s job, one that I take seriously no matter how uncool I seem to the rest of the world. I praise them upside their grinning faces for each small feat performed, an A on a paper, checks on a classroom behavior sheet even the “Most Improved” which literally translates from Zero to Hero. “Heckfire, you made me proud son,” I’ll holler while they blush with pride.

I take them to task for not washing their dirty dish and I act like they’ve earned a Pulitzer Award just for grating the cheese for me. Honey, that’s how the world’s going to treat you, you might as well learn it here with me first.