Am I a slave to my children?
Last night, after I made my 3 children frothy hot chocolates, my seven year old son approached me. He said, “Mum, you say all the time that you aren’t our servant, but you kind of are.” Mmmm, interesting. I asked him why he said that. He replied, “Well, servants are people who serve other people, right? They cook and clean and do all kinds of things for other people as their job, right?” I grudgingly agreed, not really liking this conversation very much at all.
He continued, “Well, there is a problem then, Mum, because you act like our servant because you wash our clothes and cook and fetch us from school and help us with homework, and clean our rooms sometimes even when we were supposed to. You do lots of things for us kids but we don’t have money to pay you, so that means you do it for free. That’s really bad, Mum. It means you are a slave!”
I was gob-smacked. What a thought. Deep breath, Michelle, deep breath.
I replied that I do all these things for him and his sisters because I love them and because everyone in our family works together to keep things going. I tried to get him to see that I’m just doing my part in the same way that his Dad and siblings do theirs. I told him that I love taking care of my kids and that I know that they try their best to do their chores (most of the time) and that part of being their mother is doing lovely things for them simply because I love them and that it makes me happy to do so. I hope I imparted to him that families need to operate as teams and take care of each other in the best way they know how.
He wasn’t satisfied. He started asking about odd jobs he could do so that he can earn money, because he wants to pay me for what I do I the house. He was totally mortified at the thought of me working so hard and getting nothing for it. In his mind, the injustice was huge. I laughed and hugged my sweet, earnest boy and explained to him that just knowing that he notices all I do and is grateful for it is payment enough. That I love his huge heart and the fact that he took the time to think these thoughts and express them to me.
I thought the conversation was over and didn’t think much of it. We had a fabulous family evening, complete with spontaneous jamming on the musical instruments (we murdered Adele) and cuddling on the couch to watch the Olympics. It was a rare weeknight treat. I was enjoying this family time so much that I decided that tonight, the dishes could wait. I wasn’t going to nag the kids about clearing the table or helping me with the dishes. Tonight, we’d just have fun. The girls decided to put on a dance show (a whole other post) and I vaguely remember wondering where Little Man was during their performance, but figured he was probably all girled-out and was likely playing Lego instead.
After much hustling (and waaaaaay after their bedtime) the three kids were finally in bed and I realised I had to go face that horrendous pile of dishes in the sink.
I. Did. Not. Want. To. Do. Dishes.
But, they weren’t going to wash themselves. I cynically thought to myself that Little Man wasn’t far off in his description of me as a slave. I seem to spend an inordinate amount of time with dishes, laundry, mopping, sweeping.
Uninspired, I trudged to the sink and then stopped short.
No dishes.
The sink was empty. In the drying rack was a lopsided stack of half-clean, soapy dishes. There was a giant puddle on the floor under the yellow Ikea stool, dragged from the playroom.
It seems this slave got paid.
Thank you, Little Man. Mama’s proud.
Posted on J August, 2012, in Family, Gratitude, Life, Motherhood, Parenting, Self-esteem and tagged Am I a slave?, bed time, cooking and cleaning, dancing girls, dishes can wait, family time, frothy hot chocolate, grateful children, grateful for my kids, I am tired, I got paid, I hate housework, lego, little girls dancing, my sweet boy, postaday2012, postaweek2012, watch the Olympics with the family, what is a slave?, woman with mop and bucket. Bookmark the permalink. 23 Comments.
What a great story! What a wonderful kid! You are clearly doing something right, and I love the image of the fooling around night. I miss those days!!!!
Here is one little story from my Mommy days.
For Mother’s day, when my boys were 8 and 10, they decided to write me a poem and type it up. They used our old Mac desktop computer, and wrote this:
“If every time you taught us something
Another tree would grow;
The world would be a forest
Full of things to know.”
They put in clip art pictures of kids and trees.
Its still hanging on my classroom wall, a dozen years later.
sniff
I love that! So precious. Thanks for sharing.
This is such a wonderful, heart-warming post… Thank-you! I was nearly in tears reading it and you must be so incredibly proud of your little man. What an amazing family you have. I look forward to reading more.
I had tears in my eyes over this post ..honestly the FIRST TIME a blog ever made ME CRY!! Just at how sweet your child is n how much he reminds me of my three year old…the younger they r the more they seem to LEAD WITH THE HEART almost …enjoy these memories n print your posts, so they can LAST A LIFETIME!!! I wouldn’t want to ever forget something like this in my old age LOL
What a beautiful comment – thank you SO much. I do treasure these moments (because, trust me – there are many hair-tearing-out ones in-between!) Have a great weekend!
It’s best to let kids learn a chore or two around the house when they are young and willing. By the the time they enter their teenage years, they won’t be so ready to volunteer. My younger son used to help with mopping the floor when he was a teenager. He used hot water to do it.
What a thoughtful little guy! He’s going to make a wonderful husband someday.
So sweet!! This is the second post of yours I’ve read today, and that has made me cry…I am pregnant, but still! My nine year old has recently started making breakfast for his brothers on the weekends so Mom and Dad can sleep in! He’s even made breakfast for us…it’s so wonderful and exciting to see your children exhibit kindness and empathy.
What a wonderful story. I hope one day my boys are as sweet as yours.
A great post – there’s nothing better than watching your kids (eventually) discover compassion!
Shared it over on my facebook page:
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Partycraft-Secrets/239045209469228
Thank you!
Pingback: The Story of a High Horse. « They call me Mummy
Pingback: This is what makes it worth it. « They call me Mummy
Pingback: I don’t donate blood. I donate memories. « They call me Mummy
Pingback: C is for Cheating. The Story of Samsung, Apple and One Billion Dollars. « They call me Mummy
Pingback: Octomom: To judge or not to judge? « They call me Mummy
Pingback: Baking a batch of memories « They call me Mummy
Pingback: The Crips vs The Bloods (Sibling Warfare Ain’t Pretty) « They call me Mummy
Pingback: America’s Got Talent. Me? Not so much. « They call me Mummy
Pingback: Hair today. Gone tomorrow. « They call me Mummy
Pingback: Ten things the presidential candidates could learn from my child’s preschool teacher. « They call me Mummy
Pingback: The day I became The Dummy Fairy. « They call me Mummy
Pingback: Look at that FAT lady! « They call me Mummy