In Which I Complain About An Ancient Greek

I’m a bit envious of Sisyphus. Who’s Sisyphus, you ask? He’s the Greek king who was doomed by Zeus to forever push a huge boulder up a hill only to have it roll back down again, over and over. Sisyphus has come to represent fruitless actions, monotonous, never-ending labor.

As a mom, I feel like I know a little something about monotony, work that is never done, and having my accomplishments undone. It's basically the job description. By the time the dishwasher is finished running there are dishes piling up in the sink. There's always a basket of laundry somewhere in the house (clean? dirty? clean but ruined?).  And I'm pretty sure there are more runny noses per capita than is normal. With luck, in another nine or ten years, I can start paying for college for people who are SURE they know way more than me.

I say, Sisyphus had a good thing going. Sure, working hard at something just to watch it come undone is annoying, but it’s not like Sisyphus was almost to the top when his daughter came up and repeatedly poked him in the leg, “Dad Dad Dad Dad Dad DAD DAD DADDADDAD!” and then when he was distracted the other child hit the boulder with a basketball and knocked it loose. “I told you kids not to bug me when I’m on the top third!!” Sisyphus would yell. “And how many times do I have to tell you, no basketballs near the boulder?!” Nobody actively interfered with his task, is what I’m saying. He pushed that boulder all day long with nobody to bother him.

After the third or the thirtieth or the three-hundredth time pushing that boulder up only to have it tumble back down, I figure Sisyphus must’ve given up and just enjoyed the process. The feeling of strength and power. The cleanness of pure physical exertion. There was probably plenty of time to think, to achieve a meditative state as he pushed and shoved. Lots of time to become one with himself. I mentioned the banging on the bathroom door, right?

And then, at the top-ish, when the boulder tumbles back down. . . Crashing through trees, bouncing off other rocks, getting airborne? That honestly sounds fun to watch. There’s a reason Angry Birds was so popular—it’s fun to wreck stuff, as long as you don’t have to clean up any of the destruction. If I’m in the middle of doing the dishes and suddenly the glasses tumble out of the cupboard, I’m going to have to clean it up. There are consequences. But the myth says nothing about Sisyphus having to replant sacred trees or pay for damaged Parthenons or appear in court to answer for his reckless boulder-pushing.

Maybe, you say, Sisyphus was far away from anyone who would care if the boulder smashed up a Parthenon or a Volvo. Nobody cared about his labors? Nobody cared that he was working super hard on getting that rock from the bottom to the top? Boo. Hoo. Every day I plan, shop for, and cook meals that are not only delicious but healthy, and what are the results? We sit down to the table and my kids inform me that,"Dinner is . . . not good. I want Ramen noodles." That right there is a boulder tumbling back down the hill.

Sisyphus didn’t have to convince the boulder to get itself up that hill. No, he just pushed it, no mind games, no reverse psychology, no making up silly games to fool it into thinking it was fun going up the hill.

"Uppsy-daisy! Let's jump SO high! Let's go see the zebra at the top of the hill! You LIKE zebras!"

Sisyphus only had one boulder. I’d like to see how he’d do with three! Then we’ll talk about insurmountable tasks. Just as he’s getting somewhere with one boulder, the other ones are banging into each other and making a ruckus. Deal with those two, and the first one is rolling into the Aegean. Turn around, and none of the three are where he left them. I doubt that boulder ever embarrassed Sisyphus at a playground or grocery store.

And another thing! The boulder didn’t talk back. “But I don’t WANNA go up the hill! You can’t make me! I hate you! You’re the worstest rock-pusher EVER!” I’ll bet it was really quiet on that hill, nothing but birds and wind and rustling leaves and the crunch of rock on gravel. Sigh. So quiet.

Yeah.

Sisyphus—More like Sissy-wuss. Mothers are the true mythic figures!