Cheap Labor

I remember when I was little (I‘m not talking size her, I am talking age), my brothers and I had chores. We didn‘t have a lot of chores, but every night when dinner came around, we knew we would be working our fingers to the bones either setting and clearing the table, washing the dishes and leaving them in the sink, or loading the dishwasher. (Come to think of it, I bet that is why my parents only had three kids. You really can‘t stretch out dinner dishes any more than that). There was never a chore chart, we were just randomly assigned the duty according to my parent's mood. Every night, no fail, my brothers and I would bicker about who was doing what until my dad came into the kitchen to break up the fight before he left for some bishopric meeting.

I always seemed to get the washing duty. I can still remember standing at the sink, staring at the white brick wall, thinking there was no other reason why my parents had us, other than cheap labor.

I have since figured out that, no, my parents didn’t just have kids so they didn’t have to do the dishes. My brothers and I were probably just as much fun to have around as Thomas and Clara are to Me and Steve. However, Thomas is entering into a new phase, one I am thrilled about. He is now old enough to wash the dishes. This morning, he moved the dining room chair to the kitchen sink and informed me that he needed to get the dishes done (he even said it in a whoa-is-me way, he must have learned that one from me). Did I stop him? NO WAY! I encouraged him! He then asked if I would put his apron on him so his favorite “Chick Magnet” shirt he wears with pride wouldn’t get wet. I quickly went around the kitchen and gathered up any dishes that needed doin’ and he scrubbed them all for me. What a great kid.

Now if I could just teach him how to sort laundry and run a vacuum I would be set.