After dinner at our house we have “chore” time. I put the word chore in the quotations simply because these are not defined chores, but rather things that are subject to my whims. Some nights there are many things that need to be done and I fire off my orders like a general.  Other nights there isn’t as much. And then on the rare occasion when I am feeling particularly generous, or energetic, or perhaps crazy, I let everyone off the hook and do the nightly clean up myself.

But the point is that the kids just never know.

There are basically two options.

1) Hedge your bets , try to disappear into the woodwork and hope it is your lucky night and I forget about you.

2) Option two is to take the initiative and try to grab the least offensive chore, which everyone agrees is sweeping under the breakfast room table, before it is given to someone else, thereby sparing yourself one of the most despised chores… collectively agreed to be loading the dishwasher.  heaven forbid your hand grazes some food that was once on someone else’s plate.  The HORROR!!!

My oldest son has mastered the second option. In fact tonight I think I saw him sitting at the dinner table with one hand firmly gripped onto the broom and the dustpan wedged between his knees.