We’ve all read those articles that tell us how important it is for kids to do chores, right? I can’t be the only one who’s gone over lists of age-appropriate tasks and momentarily dreamed of being able to put my feet up to read an actual book while my six-year-old cleans baseboards and the nine-year-old does our taxes.
Chores are supposed to give them confidence, make them feel more a part of the family team. It builds character, etc. Mostly, I see it as an insurance policy against eviction from future college roommates.
When my youngest started school full-time, and I finished both crying and doing cartwheels at the same time, I made a short chore list for the kids, complete with pictures for the then illiterate child. The two biggest tasks were emptying the dishwasher before we leave for school and washing lunch kits upon their return. Others included flushing the (g.d.) toilet and turning off bedroom lights.
It seemed doable and, for a while, it was. But it eventually became more of a chore to get them to do any of it, especially the lunch kits and the dishwasher. Actually, no. Especially everything. The beds were left dishevelled. The lunch kits stayed in their bags. Scary things grew in their thermoses. And, for the love of God, how hard is it to flip a light switch on the way out the room??
I staged my own rebellion, suggesting if lunch kits weren’t cleaned by the time I was ready to fill them, then I just wouldn’t. The older one ended up making her own lunch a few times and felt quite chuffed about it, though certainly not enough to want to do it everyday. The younger one isn’t as inclined to test my follow-through, and dutifully scrubbed away moments after getting in the door.
Then, an shocking thing happened. Someone told me I was being too hard on them. She pointed out my kids are out of the house for about as long as someone with a nine-to-five job and, instead of letting them take few minutes to remember what it’s like to be a child, I crack the whip as soon as they come in the door. I would even run into the room to get my husband to stop emptying the dishwasher, insisting it was their job. I was a mean old mommy,
What was I supposed to do, I wondered. On one hand, kids need *some* responsibilities in order to grow into tribe-minded members of society. On the other hand, they already miss out on so much free-range childhood and here I was proliferating the problem.
I took a chill pill and heeded the advice. Dishwasher emptying now happens maybe once a week and is rarely met with the same level of resistance. This morning, I asked one child to help me do it while the other continued reluctantly getting dressed. When the question of equal division of labour was raised, I pointed out that we aren’t keeping score and that one child is typically more helpful in the morning and the other more helpful with dinner.
Lunch kit duty has been reduced to just getting the thing out of its bag so I can wash it. I have gone back to doing—and folding—everyone’s laundry (they are supposed to put it away, which is why the majority of their wardrobes lie forever in folded piles on the carpet outside their doors). I even turn off lights and flush toilets, depending on how hormonal and obstinate I’m feeling.
The only thing I’m still a bonafide hard-ass about is hand-washing. At least with that, we’re finally at the point where they remember to use soap. Functional member of society gold stars achieved!