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Why My Kids’ Chores Don’t Make Me Lazy

Why My Kids’ Chores Don’t Make Me Lazy

Let me start by saying I can be a lazy mom. If you haven’t gathered that by now, I think you might need to seek some counsel. Either way, I was laying on the sofa this week, eating Bon Bons and watching my shows (you know, just like all of us lazy moms) and read this article about a mom chastised for showing pictures of her kids doing chores.

Sanctimommies lit their torches and charged the gates on this woman’s child-rearing techniques. She was called lazy, told to hire a maid and lambasted for being the next Miss Hannigan.

Like, I know you sanctimommies love being right, but I am going to have to tell you you’re fucking insane.

First of all, have you ever tried to teach a kid to clean something? Let me just bring you up to speed since your maids seem to be taking care of the lion’s share of things, lately.

This took place four minutes ago at my house:

Me: We need to pick up these crayons.

4: Oh man! All of them?

Me: Yes, all of them.


Me: I don’t want the dog pooping the rainbow again. It’s gotta be done.

4: Okay. *picks up three of the 347 on the floor* Done.

Me: *Deep breath* You need to get them all. You see that one by your foot?

4: Where? *Looking at ceiling*

Me: *Eyeball twitching* By your foot. That grows at the end of your leg.

4: *Looking directly at it* I don’t see it.

Me: *Sweat dripping down my forehead* Wiggle your toes. You’ll touch it.

4: …

Me: …

4: …

Me: …

4: Ohhhhhh! Got it.


This is what it’s like teaching a child to clean up after himself. If you think this is the lazy parenting approach, you’ve got another thing coming. I would 100000% rather pick up the crayons than have to go through that routine another 346 times.

Secondly, here’s the thing, for your argument of “let kids be kids” and play games and lay around like Julius Caesar. My plan is to not let adults be kids. Meaning, I don’t want my adorable four year old who can’t find a crayon become an unfortunate 40 year old, living in my basement and on Hoarders season 63 amongst his newspaper collection and tribe of hamsters.

It is important to teach your kids to clean. I am living proof that if your kids don’t know how to clean they become parents who don’t know how to clean. No, it isn’t fun. Yes, it’s easier to pick it up yourself, but I will be DAMNED if you’re going to tell me this is the easy way out.

Now, back to these crayons. *Cleansing breath.*

Go Fish: Losing My Shit During Kids’ Card Games

Go Fish: Losing My Shit During Kids’ Card Games

As I have mentioned before, I have a hard time realizing my kids are growing up and teaching them new things. So, this week, I geared myself up to do something new. I dusted off a deck of playing cards. This week we we learned how to play Go Fish! Well, my four year old “learned.” My three year old bent and licked a couple cards and then yelled at her brother for not taking her card shark skills seriously.

So, my son and I were going to play cards. Up until this point, I have avoided playing cards because 52 Pickup is not my favorite game. However, I knew I needed to do something new and this was about all I could handle.

We started.

His little hands worked feverishly to make a tiny claw to hold his hand of cards. I was astonished he was able to hold 25% of the cards in the right direction. He was so cute staring intently at his hand and furrowing his little brow.

When did he get so big?

What’s going through his precious, brilliant little mind? 

How did I create such utter perfection? 

He vaguely knew the rules of the game from playing it on my phone before.

He started, “Do you have a K?”

“Go fish.”

“Okay, honey, you have to pick another card.”

“Oh yeah,” he said while digging through the pile. “I think this game would be more fun if I was a lion. Can I be a lion?”

“Well, sure, I suppo-”

“RAWWWWWWWWWRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!” He screamed in my face with spittle flying every which way.

“Whoa!” I squealed. “Okay, you can be a lion but not so much of a lion that the babies wake up. If that happens, Mom will become a Grizzly Bear.”

“Okay! Your turn, Mama.”

“Do you have a six?”

“Go Fish.”

“Aren’t you going to look at your cards?”

“I did. No six. Go Fish.”

“Okay,” I said as I drew a card.

“Do you have a six?” He asked.

“You just told me you didn’t have a six,” I said, ever-so-patiently.

“Well, I do. I have two sixes.”

“Okay, but remember when you have two you put them off to the side out of your hand.”

“Oh yeah,” he said and then delicately plucked the two cards from his vice grip and flung them into the three-year old’s waiting hands never to be seen again.

“It’s still your turn, honey,” I said as I watched him maneuver his hand around.

“I am just going to dig in the pile for a 10,” he said and started flipping cards over in the middle.

“No, no, no. That’s not how you play. You have to ask me for the 10. That’s cheating.”

“That’s right. No cheating. Do you have a six? I changed my mind. I’m not going to ask for my 10.”

“Wait, you have another six? You were supposed to give that to me when I asked for it.”

“I didn’t have one then,” he said. “I have a six and a 10.”

*Deep cleansing breath.*

“But, you didn’t draw another card since I asked.”

“I found it on the floor.”

“Fine. Okay. Here’s my six,” I lamented.

Meanwhile, the three year old has a chunk of the six of spades hanging from her lip.

“Me play!” said three year old screeches.

“You are playing, my love. You’re the Official Cardholder. It’s a very important part. Dare I say, the most important part.”

“WHAT?!” my four year old Go Fisher screamed. “I WANT THE MOST IMPORTANT PART!”

“You’re right. Mommy misspoke. You’re both so important. I think President Obama himself wants you on his team. Now, do you have a 10?” I ask through gritted teeth, giving up on my letting-him-win strategy and pulling off the Band-Aid.

“Go Fish.”

Comment below with your parenting tasks that drive you bat shit crazy.

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