The Slave Brigade

I knew when my kids were toddlers that I could expect practically zero help from them. Picking up their toys might take me 15 minutes, but if I wanted their assistance I could pretty much guarantee that it would top the one-hour mark, and most likely would have caused the eruption of some other (larger) mess in the periphery. God knows what could happen if I stepped into the bathroom for a moment.

But my children are now out of that phase, and into what I might have considered (in my naïve younger days) to be a more capable age. They are physically large enough, for example, to push a broom with some sort of purpose, and wield a dustpan with a moderate level of success, assuming of course, that they are properly motivated. Unfortunately, I don't have enough hundred-dollar bills to even conduct a reasonable survey.

Oh, I have watched the documentaries. In India and China and such, child labor exists at appalling levels. And while I would certainly never condone such exploitation, I have to admit - I admire it. Those little foreign kids are building skyscrapers and aqueducts, and I can't even get mine to pick up their socks!

My kids show remarkable resourcefulness only in the destruction phase of play. Using the "glass is half full" optimism of youth, they consider a blanket-fort as a "constructive" activity. But we moms know the real story: they will destroy our family room, and then scamper off to spread their joy (like so much peanut butter) all over the kitchen while we madly fold, knowing that the very lives of our major appliances may depend on our upper-body agility.

I have filled my home with toys that, rather than emphasizing target shooting and alien annihilation, focus on building, construction, imagination. What was I thinking? When kids are shooting aliens, they tend to sit very still, not getting glue all over everything. They're not leaving thumb tacks on the floor, or hiding tiny little nuts and bolts where they may best foul the vacuum cleaner, and they most definitely are not getting the ferris wheel motor stuck in the dog's hair. Viva la alien hatred! You know, if it'll save the dog.

We've tried to get them interested and involved in various home maintenance tasks, but they're way too smart to fall for it. They immediately smell a chore before it's even articulated. Sort of like a dog sensing an impending bath.

They have several tried-and-true strategies for avoiding such torture. (Oh yes. I'm on to them.)
1) Cry and whine and carry on until such time as the high-pitched noise erases my memory of the initial request. (Yellow sticky notes are helpful.)
2) Take SO long to complete said task that they have grown up, moved out of the house and gone to college before having completed it.
3) Carry out the task in such a shoddy manner as to have actually rendered the situation WORSE by comparison, thereby sending me into a vengeful fit of re-cleaning, which garners them extra points for entertainment value.
4) Break the primary tool necessary to complete the chore.
5) Vomit.

Chore avoidance is truly an art, and one which takes finesse and a single-minded focus that belies their tender youth. Most people take decades to develop such sophisticated work-avoidance techniques. (Hey - you should see how many snacks I've had, just while writing this…)

I'm just saying: I just need a little help once in a while. We have four people living in our house, and only two of them are pulling their weight. It's not like we're running a slave brigade, but would it kill them to hand me a wrench once in a while? You know - when I'm stuck under the sink fishing someone's penny collection from the trap?

And no, it's not worth a hundred dollar bill.