I got sick last week. Somehow, the universe had its own sense of humor and arranged that ALL the kids stayed at home as well.

It had been one of those mornings. Sick kids at home, me at ca 10% of my usual energy, the house a mess. Me repeating for the tenth time things I had already said. Agreements being made and then expiring twenty minutes later.

And those twenty minutes were also the exact time I managed to keep my cool.
To be more precise, I hit the ground and then crashed through the bottom just to find out there was a cellar underneath it.

After raising my voice (read as “shouting”) on the 8y old, I managed to get out of the house for 10 minutes. When I returned, wanting to make myself something to eat, I realized that the exact space I need to prep my breakfast is full of dirty dishes from the evening before.

And because I have PROMISED myself not to continue being the HUMAN REMINDER MACHINE™ anymore, my brain apparently decided there is another way. 

Two minutes later, this sign was imprinted on our kitchen counter. Right next to the sink. With a PERMANENT marker.

“Don’t worry, I totally get it. And by the way, the sign actually worked.”

I stood there, baffled. I have accidentally managed to outsource myself to a kitchen counter.

That made me realize something I have been battling with for a long time. I was trying to come up with the perfect household system. To stop reminding. To outsource my brain to a fancy dashboard, or somehow to the brains of the others.

There is a particular kind of invisible household labor that is difficult to even describe because, from the outside, it looks like doing nothing.

“Put your plate away.”

“Don’t forget your bag.”

“Your towel goes in the bathroom.”

“Please put that back.”

“We agreed you would do this.”

“Have you done it?”

“Please do it now.”

“Guys, dishes.”

Again.

Again.

Again.

Each individual reminder takes maybe five seconds.

Which is precisely why it doesn’t look like work.

Yet somebody has to notice that the thing hasn’t happened. Somebody has to remember who was supposed to do it. Somebody has to decide whether to remind them now or later. Somebody has to interrupt whatever they were doing to say it. Somebody has to notice when the first reminder didn’t work.

And eventually that person becomes part mother, part household manager, part fucking notification system.

A human reminder machine.

The problem isn’t just the five seconds it takes to say wash your dish.

The problem is that the unfinished dish has somehow become my information to hold.

So I delegated the reminding.

To the counter.

Which sounds ridiculous until you realize that we do this everywhere else.

Roads don’t rely on someone standing at every intersection saying, “Remember, you need to stop here,” and your phone doesn’t employ a tiny person who follows you around announcing appointments.

Buildings have signs.

Apps have notifications.

Machines have warning lights.

Good systems put information where the action happens.

Yet somehow, inside families, we routinely solve recurring problems by assigning one human being to remember them forever.

And very often, that human being is Mom.

So perhaps the solution to some of the mental load isn’t becoming more patient, finding a better chore chart, learning to communicate more effectively or reminding everyone in a gentler voice for the 4,782nd time.

Perhaps sometimes the solution is:

Remove the human from the loop.