This week a brilliant experiment was held in my living room that went smashingly well and involved exploiting the concept of child labor.

Today I plant to branch out to include all available children.

Here’s how it went:

Ethan-11yr and I had exactly 50 minutes at home, just the two of us one morning this week. We compiled a list of jobs that needed to be done. Everything we could think of, inside and outside the home from watering plants to changing light bulbs and laundry and cleaning out the scary back area of the car. We jotted down all of these jobs on a notebook and then discussed Rewards.

If we got half the jobs done, Ethan-11yr suggested he should get an IBC Cream Soda and I should get a Diet Coke.

Because I wanted to let him have a great deal of ‘ownership’ of this project, I did not say, “whatever, I’m having 3 diet cokes later anyway, child.” I just said, “GREAT!”

If we got ALL the jobs done, Ethan-11yr suggested we somehow find a way to let him watch Eight Below even though Netflix isn’t cooperating. I said I’d get a pedicure.

I said I’d get a pedicure because a) there was NO way we were getting those particular 15 jobs done in the remaining 45 minutes, and b) i couldn’t think of anything else, but I really don’t like pedicures and the last one I had I screamed and giggled and shrieked and totally ruined the quiet-music ambience the place was going for. (But I couldn’t HELP it, it tickled.)

We picked jobs, ran and did them, and came back to mark them out. We listened to my music and then Ethan-11yr politely requested HIS music, and we generally got a lot done. Ethan-11yr changed a lot of light bulbs. Normally that’s a Mike job, but Ethan-11yr took it on and I told myself that of course he’d be fine (the child who has intentionally/accidentally broken… at least 12 light bulbs in his life, all of  which are documented with bloody, angsty details in blog archives, search ‘light bulb’ over on the right if you want the drama) and he WAS fine. It was okay. Light bulbs used to quake in fear when this child walked by, but now he changes them as well as his daddy and wouldn’t dream of shmearing toothpaste on them until it bakes a crusty brown. He grew up. Who knew?

At the last few minutes, we had 2 jobs left. TWO. This was surprising to us both. Ethan-11yr went to tackle the back of the car mess, and I had to take on my nightstand. My nightstand had a 2 1/2 foot stack of books on it that Ethan-11yr said made him “nervous.” It’s a nightstand. It’s books. It’s kinda supposed to be that way, and you can clean it off, but within a few weeks there’s a new giant stack of books because… well, that’s what I do, I just don’t blog about it. Secret is out: I’m an accidental book stacker. I read them, I look at them, and I PILE them constantly until they are a household hazard.

Really, Ethan-11yr was annoyed that when i grounded him from his little handheld game system (i do not know what it’s called) for TEN whole days, I put it on top of that book pile and added to the book pile but then moved the game system to the top each time I added books until Ethan-11yr thought that it could fall down, down, down and break and he worried about it silently and never shared his concern with me. Just as well, though, because I probably would have used it against him and told him not to get grounded from it again if it was that big a deal… maybe I’d put it on top of the refrigerator next time if it really had a fear of heights…

I can be so mean. But! Back to my point.

Ethan-11yr finished the car. I finished the nightstand. We gazed at the list of crossed out jobs in shared sweaty amazement, and congratulated each other on achieving the impossible. It felt SO good. We grinned like idiots the whole way to pick up brothers.

We picked up brothers, picked up Diet Coke and Cream Soda and told the heroic tale to the brothers who had missed it. And then Caden-7yr, said, “Cool! Can I change a lightbulb and then get a cat?”

To which I stopped grinning, got very grumpy and went off on entitlement/work/reward and blah blah blah and later my mother was all, “What? How many lightbulbs does it take to GET A CAT?” and YEAH. EXACTLY.

The lightbulb/cat question just made me want to scream. It’s kinda funny now, but… no. Not really. It’s kinda to the point where I could see how it MIGHT be cute or funny to someone else who is not me, but to me it is still not cute or funny and I am strongly compelled to OverMother the underlying bratty entitlement issues right out of that question.

So then we had the Pets Are Part of the Family and Are Everyone’s Equally and OH YEAH WE HAVE A CAT ALREADY Conversation and Caden-7yr heard me go on and on and on and then when i was finished said, “Dad said Duke is HIS.”

Duke is his hunting dog, but he’s everyone’s pet, and Dad hasn’t taken him hunting in… years, now, I think.

Mike had the extreme bad timing of calling right at that moment and I answered and said, “Hello. Did you say Duke is Your Dog, because I just went through the whole Pets Are Everyone’s Talk and–”

“No! Um, NO!”

“Yeah, okay, hang on.” I told Caden-7yr that Dad said that no he didn’t say that and Caden-7yr grinned widely. He didn’t seem in the least surprised.

(He’s stomping on my last nerve, that one, and he seems to really be enjoying it. Like his version of a bounce house.)

Anyway.

Today.

Bigger List Of Jobs.

More Children.

Animals are NOT Rewards no matter how many light bulbs you change, but there will be the satisfaction of a job well done, the satisfaction of marking out the job on the list when you finish (love it), and surprising everyone with the Things You Can Do.

Okay, yeah, that sounded kinda lame, but I’ll make it sound better when i pitch it to the kids here in a minute.

I need kids to help me clean. LaLa is coming!

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