Although we don’t have a sterile house, I do like to keep things shipshape. I love it when the laundry is done, the counters are clean and the dust bunnies have been laid to rest.
Granted, that’s not always possible. Clothes hampers fill up, the dirty dishes seem to multiply and anonymous bamboozlers write “dust me” on every flat surface.
Back in the day, I incorporated all of our boys into the household chores with a lovely little system I liked to call the Number Game.
As far as I was concerned, it was more fun than “Wheel of Fortune,” more challenging than “Jeopardy” and certainly gave “Family Feud” a run for its money.
I simply made a list of chores that needed to be done, placed a number by each task and would jump into the midst of my charges with a clipboard in one hand and a pen in the other.
Although I did not have a TV audience to cheer me on, I approached my less-than-willing contestants with enthusiasm. I had a bounce in my step, greeted them with a five-mile smile and would oftentimes dance to music no one else could hear.
Generally speaking, I was not received with a round of applause, nor did our sons rise from their seats to do the wave.
Rather, they would pull blankets up over their heads, duck under the coffee table and the wisest among them would fake a flu. Yet, what the Number Game lacked in crowd appeal, it made up for in competition and my sons couldn’t help but rise to the challenge. When one of their poor siblings got stuck with cleaning the john, they would chant, sneer and howl like a barbaric crowd in medieval times.
Oh, those were the days.
Time has passed, things have changed and one by one those darling boys of ours have headed off to college, leaving only Charlie to help out with the things that I need done to keep the house presentable.
Luckily enough for me, there isn’t as much laundry, dirty dishes or discarded garb strewn about the abode. Still, things get dirty and I only feel it fair to incorporate Charlie into the daily chores.
Every time I assign a new task, the little guy tends to slump his shoulders, throw his head back and wallow in a puddle of selfpity.
When it comes to my task doling, his favorite responses consist of, “But, I just cleaned that,” “I have to do everything around here,” and the blanket rebuttal that covers all areas, “Oh, c’mon!”
He is just so darned cute.
“Take out the trash,” I instructed the other day. “Bring the dirty clothes to the laundry room and start a load, vacuum the basement and unload the dishwasher.”
“Why can’t anyone else help out?” he inquired.
“Because the cat cleaned everything the last time,” I explained with a touch of sarcasm, “and now it’s your turn. Oh, and clean the bathroom while you’re at it.”
“It’s horrible around here,” Charlie bemoaned when his older brothers were home for a weekend.
“Mom works me like a dog,” he lamented to his father, and at a recent family gathering he told my in-laws, “I think Mom lays awake at night and just dreams chores up!”
Yet, you have to hand it to him, for once his initial reaction is over and his cute little tantrum has passed, Charlie tackles the tasks at hand like a true contender.
Sporting oversized headphones, he can be heard singing his little heart out as he marches his lanky figure around the house cleaning with ease and pushing a broom like a breeze.
Having youth on his side, he can dust like a dream, mop like he means business and run the vacuum like it’s his job. Why, he gives a whole new meaning to chore boy.
In fact if there was ever a game show titled “Scrub That Tub!” Charlie would be the No. 1 contender and certainly the man to beat. Especially since, these days, he is the only contestant.
Lori Clinch is the mother of four sons and the author of the book “Are We There Yet?” You can reach her by sending an email to [email protected].