A while back we laid down the law. Actually I laid down the law. D was in California on business.
D finds it tough to spend time away from his family. In San Francisco. You know? The picturesque, artsy, on the ocean, great food, and even better pubs city that people sing about leaving their hearts in. Poor guy…no arguments to listen to, no chores to harass kids about, no morning panic prep. Point is I like having him around to calm the savage beasts. I could be referring to the kids or myself. You choose.
While D is away I run a tight military operation. It’s my loving way of making sure the kids are fed, finish their homework, get to their sports on time, and sleep. It works for us and yet there was a missing step. The kids doing chores step. In a moment of epiphany the law was laid down.
It went something like this, “I have HAD it! I am NOT your servant! THIS is a family! EVERYONE pitches in! That means BOTH of you! You are getting regular chores as of NOW! And you WILL do them! EVERYDAY!” The neighbours may have heard me. Probably.
This is where I throw in a disclaimer (a minute one because that’s all I’m in the mood for) before the kids mutiny and claim defamation of character. Bou and PG have always helped out around the house, generally keep their rooms tidy, and are both meticulous with their sports gear.
What they didn’t have; however, were regular chores; the ones that were theirs and theirs alone which had to be done day in and day out. How monotonous. Like what we do all the time? Time to suck it up cupcakes. It’s your turn at the hamster wheel.
They got chores. It’s a list of 5 or 6 items to be completed every freaking day. Not just when the mood strikes or I’ve nagged them until my voice goes hoarse. And no, hanging your coat is not a chore. That’s just expected…if you want dinner.
What set me off was coming home to every glass we own dirty, plates and cutlery spread over 3 counters, food shrapnel all over the island, and the sink filled with a tower of precariously piled dishes. SO high that when I turned the tap on, the water hit the top bowl – 1 of 9 in the sink – splashing over the lip soaking my new Lululemon hoodie with grimy, oatmeal water.
Loading the dishwasher is one of their chores, but perhaps I was unclear. In the interest of avoiding thunderous storm clouds hovering over my head a more detailed explanation of the how, when, and why is needed. Thankfully my resident artist is around to provide instructional and cautionary diagrams.
Venting is cleansing. I feel kilos lighter. Or at least a couple of grams.
* On the plus side, Bou now hangs the towel up following his shower so it appears visual aids work.
** We have far too many plastic food containers.
*** Just in case this doesn’t work please send wine. Or Kilkenny.