Author: littleyellownotepad

“Children should do chores in the house.”

“Children should not have to do jobs in the house, they should want to.”

“Children should be expected to help out at home.”

“It’s ok to bribe children, they will slowly grow out of it.”

“You should never bribe children.”

“Children shouldn’t be asked to help, they should be told to.”

“We should not put demands on children, we should create the environment to make them want help out at home.”

“Giving kids an allowance teaches them how to manage money.”

“Kids should not be rewarded with money. They will grow up to be money hungry adults.”

Walk into my house this past Thursday morning and you will see my 10 year old sweeping the kitchen floor, 7 year old washing dishes and 5 year old making lunches and zipping lunch bags.

Wow, you marvel. How does she get her kids to do that? I wish my kids could do that too!

I’ve done that before; walked into someone else’s house, seen kids sweeping, washing dishes and vacuuming and felt like a dismal failure. Why don’t my kids ever do that, I’d wonder, what am I doing wrong!?

I pondered all different systems, job lists, incentives, and charts. But since I wasn’t sure what my policy was, to bribe or not to bribe, I never got anywhere with it.

What is the law of the land? I read articles advocating all sides of the argument and continued to wash the dishes alone.

Finally, after 10 years of trying to work it out and my kids rarely offering to participate in household chores, I had an epiphany.

My house is my land; my husband and I are the rulers and we make the laws! And we know the citizens of the land best so we should make laws that work for them.

And so after a quick meeting of the powers that be, we came up with a plan.

And if you walked into my house last Thursday, here’s the part you didn’t know:

It was the first day of the new system, and the system works as follows: Each day there are 8 different chores you can sign up for and each one is worth a quarter. When you reach $5, you can cash it out. And if there’s one thing all my kids like, it’s earning money.

The kids shouted with glee as they reserved their chores for the week.

And now, a week later, it’s still working. They’re washing dishes and folding laundry. My husband gave free training on how to wash down the table after meals and I gave step by step guidance how to put in a load of laundry.

Forget the myriad books, contradictory articles and various tidbits on kids helping in the house.

This is my house, so my opinion counts most.

But I do admit, somewhere in the recesses of my mind, is that little voice taunting, “But what if…”

What if a grumbly camp counselor calls me in a couple years complaining my child won’t do his laundry unless he’s rewarded.

What if I get a phone call from an agitated daughter in law in 15 years accusing me of mis-training her dear husband, who will only do the dishes if he gets paid…

What if an annoyed boss calls me in 20 years that my son won’t clean his desk at work unless he gets a bonus…

What if I’m ruining all their ethical and moral values? Making them greedy?

What if, what if…

There’s plenty more what ifs, but I’m learning to ignore them. I have to deal with the present.

For the first time they’re actually doing real jobs in the house, earning money, saving me loads of work and we are all happy. And for right now, that’s good enough.

This year was an ideal Pesach for Chol-Homoed-trip-lovers around the world.

I had the greatest idea for a trip; let’s go to Facebook land.

It’s a one stop shop for all trips; we could see museums, amusement parks, roller coasters; go hiking, fishing, boating. .. you name it, all free of charge, with smiling adults and kids and never any fighting.

I would have stayed on my Facebook field trip all day, but my idea was vetoed by the higher powers, namely my children. Off we went to the Aerospace Museum, bags packed with appealing snacks of macaroons, lady fingers, apples, pears and water.

First things first upon arrival, we snapped the signature Chol Hamoed Trip Facebook Picture.

Then it was back to business.

“We’re hungry.”

“It’s so boring.”

“Let’s stay longer.”

“When are we leaving?”

“I’m hungry.”

“We didn’t come here to eat! We paid admission, go check out the cool stuff!” 

“Where are we going tomorrow?”

“Let’s come back here tomorrow!”

“This place is so dumb, no way!”

“That’s my apple, I called it first!”

“When’s snack time?”

“I need the bathroom!”

“Is it time to leave yet?”

I sneak out my phone to peek at my Chol Hamoed Trip Facebook Picture, just to make sure we were still having a good time. Yup, we were all still smiling. No need to update the status, not everything has to be public knowledge.

Exhausted after a long day, we head back to the car.

“It’s my turn to sit near the baby!”

“No, you sat there on the way here!”

“No, I didn’t. That was yesterday!”

“He’s in my seat!”

Someone flips over the back row of the van…the way boys do, making sure their feet kick someone in the head.

“Ow! He kicked me!”

“It was by accident!”

“No it wasn’t! You did it on purpose!”

I sneak another peek at my phone. Yup, still all smiling. We are still having fun. Can’t wait for tomorrow’s trip.

I’m slowly coming out of the three week blur called Pesach. The calendar is deceiving; it makes Pesach look like a one week holiday. But as any mom can attest, it’s way longer than that.

And I loved every minute of it.

Every minute of the cleaning, hosting, cooking, delegating, organizing, shopping and peeling, just to name a few.

I always loved Pesach. As a kid, it was magical. The kitchen transformed; nothing was regular.

I was never the biggest fan of Pesach food, and I’m still not, but I loved the atmosphere. I loved getting together with all the cousins, aunts and uncles at my grandparents house, filling every nook and cranny with blankets and pillows for everyone to sleep; more people in the house than I’m sure were legally allowed. Lots of kids, noise and more noise.

I loved it all.

Now, finishing my 8th year of “making” my own Pesach, my Pesach cabinet has grown exponentially from the original knife, cutting board and tea kettle.. And somewhere along the way, as the lists and responsibilities grew, that love for Pesach got a little less natural and bit watered down…

And so I made some changes.

Each year, before the mile long lists begin to take shape, I focus all my energy on one thing and one thing only:

To love Pesach.

I spend a whole week mentally going through the Pesach motions and do everything I can to cement it all with a strong love for the beautiful week of celebration.

And so when somewhere between preparing chicken #19, potato kugel #7 and setting the table the exhaustion, overwhelming-ness, noise level and sleep deprivation hit all at the same time, I can still smile and love Pesach.

When every last of the 18 pillows I own, plus the 9 new ones my husband had to run to Walmart to buy before the guests arrived (all my kids insist on sleeping with two each…) I loved it all.

When the kitchen was strewn with half eaten yogurts, eggshells and lady finger crumbs, I loved it all.

When I was preparing food for three different simultaneous seders, my head spinning as I labeled  each container of potatoes, onions and eggs to make sure they ended up in the right place, I loved it all.

When I made a dash around the house, handing out clean, new white shirts to all the boys to wear to the community seder, and then I got 7 minutes to quickly prepare myself and went off to host 70 people,I loved it all.

When all the new white shirts were covered in grape juice, the floor a sticky mess and the kids up past midnight, I loved it all.

And each time I sat down to nurse, I thanked my baby for making sure I got  a sitting break, helping me love Pesach.

And each time my cleaning lady showed up as planned, I thanked her profusely for helping me love Pesach.

It’s one big blur, but I know I loved every moment.

 The coast is clear.

I look both ways, making sure I won’t get caught.

One kid reading on the couch. One in the bathroom. Two playing UNO. Two playing lego. Baby asleep. It’s my big moment, I”m going to make my move.

I’m going to make a phone call.

I creep back to the kitchen, as inconspicuous as possible.

I dial the number. I start my call.

Kid-reading-on-the-couch slowly gravitates to the kitchen..it’s the perfect time to tell me all about the book he is reading. I make the one-minute motion, which he apparently chooses not to get. I mouth “Please wait till I’m off the phone,” but it’s not working.

The two lego-players come barreling in, needing a referee. “It’s my diamonds!” “No, it’s from my special pieces!” I give the one-minute motion. Nothing doing. I head to the garage, hoping to get a moment of quiet, and they all follow. UNO cards come raining down in my path; the game is over with no winner, only mischievous-looking faces. And the UNO-card rain dance is in full swing.

I motion, I whisper, I cover the mouth piece and beg for a moment to finish up…

“Come wipe me!” calls a little voice from the bathroom. And I hear that noise. The non-mistaken noise of the roll of toilet paper being unrolled as he waits…a roll that I know I put in only an hour ago.

“I’ll wipe you!” calls one of the Uno-dancers, making a beeline for the bathroom, something he knows will certainly get my immediate attention.

And then I hear it…the baby is crying. His 12 minute nap is done.

Can’t anyone see I’m trying to make a phonecall?!