Child Labor of Love

It is Monday morning....again! Another workweek begins. I arose early this morning and walked into the kitchen to start the coffeepot. I was disappointed when I was faced with a pile of supper dishes that I hadn't done last night, having temporarily forgotten that I had dozed off on the sofa while reading and had gone to bed early for a change, leaving the mess as a wakeup call. So I rolled up my sleeves, filled the sink with hot, sudsy dishwater, and began to clean up. I used to hate to do the dishes, a rather mindless chore, but now it is not so bad. I enjoy seeing the instant results of a task accomplished. Maybe that stems from the fact that there are so many other things in my life that never end. My desk at work is never totally clear, these kitchen cabinets seem to be taking forever to paint, the boxes of items waiting to be sorted through to declutter my house is monumental. So there is a tiny bit of pleasure to be had in this simple act, and some happy memories, too.

As I washed each dish I thought of all the times I had to share this chore with my little sister when we were growing up. We would stand at the sink, side by side, where I was assigned to wash and rinse, while she was responsible for drying and putting away. For the most part we got along during this process, singing childhood songs together, talking and laughing as we worked. Sometimes we aggravated each other, my little sister chiming in with a different song while I was singing another, each of us raising our voices louder and louder trying to outdo the other, until one of us protested to our mother. She would threaten to make us, meaning me, finish the dishes alone, so a compromise would ensue, my little sister usually getting her way. I would make up for it by continually pouring water over the dishes in the drainboard to make her job a little more difficult. Ah, sisterly love! I didn't realize or appreciate what was happening at the time but we were bonding and learning in spite of the arguments. The time we spent standing there was time we spent getting to know each other better, sharing our secrets and our dreams. We learned how to work together as a team, setting the tone for our work habits in the future. We learned how to deal with conflict in an effective manner. We learned to appreciate each other, for it was much more fun to do the dishes together than alone. We became something more than just sisters, we became friends.

When my daughters were growing up they had similar experiences, though they may remember them differently than I do. My oldest may say she always did more work than my middle child, and it may be true to some degree. I guess I expected more out of her simply because of her age. That is the natural order of things. But once she left home for college, my middle child had to assume her role so it is all relevant to timing. I know they have fond memories of growing up together as I do with my little sister and I am glad that they are friends.

Children won't realize what a gift parents are giving them by making them do household chores together, that there are a multitude of life skills and bonding opportunities packed into these simple tasks. They won't realize that it would be easier for parents to give in and do the chores themselves than to listen to the arguments and complaining, robbing their children of the chance to learn and grow together. Only when they grow up and move away will they realize and appreciate this childhood labor of love.