Yes, you! With the cute little tyke wrapped around your ankle. It's confession time.
I've been successfully and singlehandedly doing some minor renovations in our bathroom, between tea with friends (read: therapy), school obligations and a return to jazzercise.
My house looks like I have abandoned it to raccoons.
So, as per my usual, I made up some chore lists for my kids this morning. Simple things they can do while Greg and I tackle improvements designed to sell this house.
Zack is more tidy in nature; lists make his heart sing. He is plowing through his. Happy is he and his organized brain, which I may never fully comphrehend.
Lexi is creating alternative lists to my list; still helpful, but not what I need right now. She thinks this is a democracy. She thinks the lists should be equal in difficulty, that I should ignore the three year age difference. She thinks baking me shortbread for strawberries is in order. (She may be on to something.)
I've created a chore monster.
I was inconsistent in including her in these activities way back when; she would have been more excited to learn how to mop at three or four. Maybe.
(Ok, I don't buy that completely either. I have hated housework my whole life.)
So, as I listen to her grouse and stomp, I offer this up, if it lightens your load someday: Be consistent in choreland. Make them share the load early and often.
That is all.
Over and out, and learning from my mistakes,