Aselin

Work is a big theme in our family. My husband declared a number of years ago that our job as parents was to teach our children to ‘Love the Lord and know how to work”. I agree in concept it’s just when I have to put it into practice it gets tricky.

Working along side the children seems to be the most effective mechanism for instruction. That way one can point out that a room is not clean if you still have to step over things on the floor. You can demonstrate that you actually need to make some sort of contact with the toilet to remove any sullied parts and get it clean, and it has the added benefit of adding nonverbal skills to one’s arsenal. Skills like the all effective Stink Eye, the Point and Frown and my favorite, the Cover and Gag.

Most if not all of these skills are employed during every Family Work Session. They’re really smart kids, you’d think they’d learn... But when your parents believe it’s some divine assignment it’s even harder to skirt one’s responsibilities.

It should be no surprise to us when one of our charges comes in, leans against a door and says “Dad, I’m not a fan of work.” Ooooo. Not smart. Dad of course springs into action with the decree that without work one cannot maintain that child’s current lifestyle. Someone unwilling to work quickly becomes homeless, so a cot would be erected in the garage for the child. Immediately piano lessons, soccer team, new clothes, air conditioning, swimming pool, vacations were going to be restricted. Even food was going to be altered as they were put on notice that if they were not willing to work then they didn’t earn the privilege of eating out with the rest of the family. A peanut butter and jelly sandwich would be packed for them whenever we went out.

Even I was impressed with how far he took it. (Usually I’m the one that pushes parental teaching moments a bit too far).

Sniffling, the child resigned themselves into returning to their chores. I couldn’t help but giggle, and be a little afraid as I also sprung into action. I didn’t want to sleep in the garage...

This weekend, after 30 minutes in the yard, unnamed child number one flops back in to the house for water. We believe in hydration so this is an acceptable break. The rest of the family follows only to hear the announcement that “I am sweating. I never sweat and this is not fair that I am sweating.” Yeah, poor thing. I look over at her dad who is dripping from head to toe. He’s been out there hours longer than the children, and I think again, they should be smarter than this and keep their mouths shut sometimes.

The kid is blotting, and wiping and being all southern belle dramatic when dad strides up with his own shirt as a visual aide. “Honey”, he drips, “I don’t sweat either.”

“Then what’s all that water all over your shirt, you’re dripping all over the floor.”

Grinning, and without missing a beat he looks down and says, “This, oh this is just body drool.”

Lovely. Since in our home the work is never going to end, all this week I’ve heard the repeated declarations, “Mooooom. piano practicing is making my body drool.” "I can't clean my room, my body will drool."

Yeah, I don’t blame you if you don’t come over either.