The result of our periods of overlapping illness was that, yesterday morning, when I emerged from my stupor better-ish, but still shaky on my pins, the house was a rat hole. You know all that stuff I just posted about how much I love to watch our children do chores? Well, it turns out they only do those things if I'm there to play Chore Maestro.
To be fair, Adelaide mostly took care of her own stuff, such as cleaning up her own dishes, hanging up her wet snow gear, etc, and Atticus wasn't completely disgusting, but Caedmon? He had the nerve to act like a five-year-old boy with little adult supervision *clears throat* which, I suppose is exactly what he was, but still.
As a result, starting yesterday afternoon we began discussing initiative. Initiative, as I
We're starting small, as I soon realized that our boys don't even seem to see when some things need to be done. So I'm pretending they're troglodytes- not much of a stretch today, friends- and leading them gently around the house, adding extra sarcasm-infused syrup to my voice as I ask, "And what is this, sweet boys? That's right, it is a bowl! Very good, boys! And what is in this bowl, sons of mine? Why, I don't know what it is, either! Sometimes it's hard to identify food when it's been sitting out for two days, so don't feel bad. Now, here is the important part, future men of the world (GOD HELP US ALL): [Insert highly detailed instructions of a simple procedure including water and a sink that I will not put you through]. Now, who can repeat what I just said?"
|Just eating my lunch with a wooden spoon because every other piece of silverware was dirty and our children didn't ever see that as a problem.|
I don't really have short-term specific goals for this, either, but if I did they'd probably fall between "takes out the trash without being asked" and me no longer having to scrub around the base of the toilet while quietly singing Janet Jackson's Nasty to myself with increasing hysteria. Somewhere in there.