Deep Thoughts

Sometimes, I think to myself... "Why are you so stupid?"  Then I say GrumbleGrumbleGrumble

Looking back at the last day, I get this concept.

The chore chart has been a miserable failure.  MOSTLY because we, as the parents, allow it to be so.  The boy doesn't LIIIIIIIIKE doing the dishwasher. He doesn't LIIIIIIIIKE sweeping and mopping the floor.  He doesn't LIIIIIIIKE emptying the waste baskets... so instead of fighting every non-GodDamn day with the child, we too often choose the path of least resistance. 

Last night, I wasn't feeling well, and wifey was at the P!nk concert.

It is trash day on Thursday, and the chore chart has the Boy Child emptying the waste baskets on Wednesday night. 

He does not like this.  At all. 
He doesn't want to do it. 
He's too tired. 
He's doing something else right now. 
He wants to do it in 5 minutes. 
He's getting his backpack together for school tomorrow.
He's in the middle of brushing his teeth.
Can he have a Popsicle first?

Yes, all of those, in a row, within 5 minutes.

Then, the waste basket emptying begins.  He goes to get the first basket.  I say "Son, what are you doing?" he replies "Going to get the waste basket"  I say "Son, why don't you get a trash bag and take it with you and empty the waste baskets into the bag, rather than making 2 trips for every waste basket?"  he replies "FIIIIIIIIINE!"

Now, I realize that you folks may think this conversation is a bit odd- with me using the term "Waste basket" so often. Is it because it's difficult to convert the spoken word and conversation into the written word?  No, that's not why.  It's because if I don't use THE CORRECT TERM, SPECIFICALLY, EVERY SENTENCE, the Boy Child will get distracted and lost, and think I'm suddenly instructing him to climb on top of his bed and dust the fan blades or something.  So I HAVE to use the term "Waste Basket" over and over and over.  It's not only annoying to type, it's also quite annoying to SAY that many times in a 10 minute period of time.

So- back to the story-

He gets the white, drawstring kitchen trash bag.  A New one.  Of course, since in the Boy Child's mind there is only ONE way to open a trash bag, he proceeds to do the Shake Shake Shake method
Over
and Over
and Over
and Over
and Over
and Over
and Over

You get the point.  It doesn't work, unless you first PULL the bag open slightly to allow air to get into the bag. So, amongst the rattling and shaking, I call to the Boy- "Son" "Yeah?" "Did you try pulling the bag open a little first?" "UUUGGGHHHHH! JEEZ!"

stomp stomp stomp

He heads to the first wast basket.  Now- I did not tell him which waste basket to empty first.  I did not specify any relative level of importance to the waste baskets.  I did not even tell him WHICH waste baskets to empty- just "Go empty the waste baskets"

stomp stomp stomp

Heading to his sister's room, I hear the Boy child climbing around the chairs and whatnot, getting to the basket.  Shake, grunt, "JEEZ!", climb, stomp, SMACK!

Cry cry cry

He turned around and ran into the door. 

That the Boy child accomplished this on his own, is indisputable.  The girl child was sitting on the couch next to me the entire time, reading her book.  I was lying down on the couch.  The DOG was on the couch.

cry cry cry... come around the corner "JEEZ, MAGGIE!"

me: "What happened?"
Boy: "Maggie's door hit me!"
me: "Let me see it, son"
me: "Ok, it looks fine.  Now what happened, again?"
Boy: "I got the trash and I was leaving her room and MAGGIE's door HIT me! Thanks a LOT Maggie!"
me: "Do you really think this is Maggie's fault?"
Boy: "YES!  If her door hadn't hit me!..."
me: "Ok, then. Go get the next trash can.  WAIT!  Waste basket."

The trash collection proceeded.  When the Boy announced his GLORIOUS completion of the task, then, this:

me: "OK son, well done.  Can you please tell me exactly which trash cans you emptied?"
Boy: "Maggiesyoursmommysmine"
me: "Ok son, can you now slowly tell me which trash cans you emptied?"
Boy: "MAGgie's, YOUr... OH dangit!  I forgot your bathroom"
---makes a scene collecting the trash bag and DRAGGING it to my bathroom---
me: "Thank you, son.  Now- Maggie's, mine, my bathroom.  Did you get your bathroom?"
Boy: "UHHHHH! No"

--- quickly gets it done---
me: "Did you get the office?"
Boy: "UUGH!  I have to do THAT one, TOOOO?!?!?"
me: "Well, son, if it's a waste basket- then yes.  ALL the waste baskets."
Boy: "But mommy emptied it on Saturday!"
me: "And it has been used and there is new trash in it, so please go get it"
Boy "UGH!  FINE!"

What you don't realize is that the office isn't upstairs, through the secret panic room door, over a 6' wall, and through the pit of nails.

The office door is the door that the Boy is LEANING ON.

RIGHT.

THERE.

BEHIND.

HIM.

Ahhh good times.

We had a successful waste basket collection.

Boy: "Dad?"
me: "Yes, son?"
Boy: "Do I HAVE to take teh trash bag out to the trash can?  Cuz it's dark out, and I don't like..."
me: "No, you can take it tomorrow morning when you take the trash can to the curb."

So- in the morning- he takes out the wastebasket trash bag to the trash can outside.

And despite mentioning at LEAST 5 times "Take the trash can to the curb" in the morning,

No.  Trash can did not get picked up this week.

Good times, people.  Good times.