My mother used us children as a gaggle of dishwashers. This was a time when there were no dishwashers. One of us would wash while the other dried. If we were too short, we’d stand on a chair. We were also responsible for doing our own laundry by the time I was ten years old. My mother made us vacuum the stairs, living room, and den and sweep the kitchen and dining room floors every few days. We were sub-lieutenants at her command. Thankfully, we had a cleaning lady who came in once a week, so our contribution was more maintenance than anything else.
The result of this sort of upbringing is that I hate anything to do with housekeeping. I possess a high threshold for ignoring disorder. If it weren’t for Giuseppe and our cleaning lady, I don’t know what our apartment would look like. Yet, when it came to raising our children with the necessary housekeeping skills, we started early. I firmly believe that children should be given tasks that are both playful and difficult at the same time.
Washing the kitchen floor, washing and drying a sinkful of plastic containers and wooden spoons, sorting laundry into light and coloured loads, putting the clothes from the washing machine into the dryer... the list is long. These were chores my children did from a very young age. In the end, these activities sometimes created more work for me than they saved, but that was not the point of the exercise.
In a strange way, we were doing something together, though apart. I would prepare a meal while Julien and Sara washed the kitchen floor, which consisted of skating around on the wet floor in stocking feet with rags, spreading the water around. Was the floor clean after this? A little. Did I have to spend time afterwards sopping up the suds and water? Absolutely.
Yet, for that precious pocket of time, we were all doing chores. They weren’t just helping me; they were playing a role in making a happy home. Some of the chores I gave them were more occupational therapy than useful. Asking them to sort a load from the dryer and place each piece of clothing on the bed of the person it belonged to was also a way to tire them out as they ran back and forth between the pile of laundry and the various bedrooms.
These were activities they could do without my supervision. They were also things I could shower praise on. Not “You are so amazing!” but “The floor is so clean!” or “The laundry is nearly done!”
As for the chores most children typically had to do, like cleaning up their rooms, I never found a way to get them to do those without a battle. They never cleaned their rooms without a fuss. This was probably my fault because this was one of the chores where I reverted to the way my mother commanded us. I would boss my children into cleaning, and they would find all sorts of strategies to avoid doing it. In this way, they were endlessly resourceful.
Maybe other parents did better at getting their children to clean up. Or maybe no one talked about these power struggles because that would have required them to admit defeat.
Getting my children involved in chores from a very young age helped them become people who are easy to live with and who know what it means to do their fair share. Admittedly, they are not necessarily good housewives. On the scale between the Picky Housekeeper, who always wants everything in its right place, and the Lackadaisical Housekeeper, who finds it hard to create order, Julien and Sara probably rest somewhere in the middle.
So, yes, I guess involving them in doing chores at an early age was a success. Success was not producing children with immaculate homes; it was producing adults who understand that they have to do their share.
No comments:
Post a Comment