Chores—or how do you figure out what your kids can do to help run the household. It’s a tricky subject for most parents, me included. When my oldest was still in the womb, I did what many 1^st time moms do—I read a lot of books on child-rearing, discipline, health, etc. Not that I was planning to *use* any of the techniques presented, I just wanted to see what the “experts” had to say. Coming from a large family, I thought I had everything all figured out.

Yeah, right.

I’ve learned a ton since my first was born. One of the biggest lessons for me was flexibility. What my oldest could do at a certain age may be (and frequently *is*) different from what the others can do. Each of my children has their own likes/dislikes and aptitudes when it comes to housework. There are a few things that everyone is expected to do from a very young age. In our house when the child is old enough to walk they are also old enough to:

• Put their own clothes, towels, etc in the hamper. Every evening when I changed them into their pajamas, their dirty clothes got put in the hamper. At first we’d just let them walk with us, then we’d hand them the clothes and let them walk them over, finally they would pick up their clothes and take them to the hamper alone.
• Pick up their own toys/books/games. If you play with it, you put it away. Again, when they were tiny we would show them where the toy went, then we’d hand it to them and they’d put it on the shelf, finally they’d pick it up and put it away. This one doesn’t always work anymore. As they get older, they seem to forget how to put stuff away.
• Put their own dishes (unbreakable) in the sink or on the counter.

As the kids get older, they can do more around the house. Right around 3 is when my kids really started getting into helping around the house. Some favorite chores for the pre-school set were:

• Window washing. I’d put some diluted vinegar in a spray bottle and let them wash the windows they could reach. They really liked washing the windows on the screen door, living room, and dining room. It kept them busy while I worked on less appropriate chores.
• Wiping the tables after dinner.
• Sweeping the floor. They’d sweep the debris into a pile and I would go and finish up. Sometimes I’d sweep and they would hold the dust pan.
• Putting the groceries (canned/boxed goods) away.

We’re almost done with the pre-school years here. My oldest is nearing 8 and the baby will be 4 in another month. Their chores are starting to reflect increasing responsibility. The oldest has chores separate from the younger two now. As the younger kids grow, we’ll give them their own chores to do. Right now what we expect of the younger two in addition to the above chores are the following:

• If they get something out, they put it away.
• Coats hung on the rack, hats/gloves in the bin, and shoes in the shoe box.
• Clear up all the toys, paper, books, etc so the floor can be cleaned.
• Make their bed.
• Put all their own dishes in the sink, including scraping their plates into the trash if necessary.
• Help sort the laundry.
• Help with meal preparation—stirring, getting dishes, chopping soft foods with supervision, cracking the eggs, setting the timer, etc.
• Pick up the yard before mowing.
• Bag up the leaves after raking.

In addition to that list, my oldest also is responsible for:

• Changing the trash bag in the can. Generally this means that the adult takes the full bag out and ties it and he takes the old bag to the outdoor can and puts a new one in the indoor can. If the bag is too heavy for him to lift, an adult does the first part and he just puts the new bag in.
• Changing the bag in the bottle bin.
• Helping to carry in the groceries.
• Putting his own clothes away
• Putting the towels away
• Loading the dishwasher
• Bringing the empty trash cans in on trash day.
• Running the vacuum in the main living area and their playroom.
• Planning and cooking one meal per week, with supervision

This list will continue to change and grow as the children grow. Eventually, we hope to have the children helping with a good portion of the housework. This will allow us to create a rotating schedule of chores so that everybody helps with everything and nobody is always stuck with the worst jobs (because that’s usually me).

~ yummiesprite is a homeschooling mama to four crazy kids who selfishly takes time for herself. See what she’s up to on Luscious Decadence!

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I received a box the other day, from what appeared to be a major online retailer. I remember thinking, “Wow, the Little Pickle Press book is coming from [that place]? How cool for them!”

If you haven’t heard of Little Pickle Press, you aren’t alone. They’re new. Spring of 2009 new. But, I don’t think that should stop you from reading further about the publisher (ripped directly from their “About Us” page):

Little Pickle Press LLC (“LPP”) is a 21st Century publisher of high quality, high impact media for children. Founded in Spring 2009, LPP brings a fresh approach to an industry in need of change.

We cultivate partnerships with our artists a little differently than other publishers by sharing more control, rights, limelight, and royalties with them. We publish and promote our family of authors, illustrators, and their works through a breadth of services, which we believe yields the finest crop of new talent and distinctive products for our formative audience of children.

We also do our printing and distributing a little differently than other publishers. We print on only recycled paper, use soy inks, and ship in green packaging predominately direct to our customers to minimize the harmful impact on the environment. Think of it as growing a cucumber, without pesticides and fertilizers, then selling that cucumber at the local farmer’s market.

Finally, we support children a little differently than other publishers…we not only make it our mission to provide healthy, wholesome, exciting books, e-books, and other media for “little pickles,” we also donate 10% of all book purchases to non profit partners dedicated to helping children in great need.

Our new way of publishing may cost us a bit more, but we know it’s worth it to support our family of artists, to protect our environment, and most importantly, to enrich our “little pickles.”

I opened the box, pulled out some recycled packaging (hooray!) and a children’s book titled What Does It Mean To Be Global? by Rana DiOrio and Illustrated by Chris Hill. The whole “don’t judge a book by its cover” idea definitely does not apply to this book. The artwork on the cover is beautifully reflective of artwork many parents have come to appreciate in children’s books.

Before showing the book to my own kids, I had to test it for “quality assurance,” kind of like I play with test their toys before I let them play. There is no simple way to say how fantastic this book is. Its fantastic in its message, its answer about what “global” means. It shows children of all race, color, religion and gender playing side by side and explains how wonderful it is to have such diversity, and that it is a good thing to be able to not only learn about other cultures, but to have friends who are different than what “we” may be used to. Simply speaking, its a handbook for peace, written for children, and I feel a bit honored to have a copy.

My four-year-old twins loved the book. They’re big into pointing out girls and boys right now, so all of the different children were a big hit for them. My nine-year-old was really impressed with the story, the illustrations, and especially, the animals. He may be slightly older than the demographic, but he liked it, regardless. After we had read it twice, I asked him, “are you global?” and he paused, smiled, and said, “yes!”

That’s all I needed to know

Living in the Washington, D.C., area, I am happy that my children will grow up to experience the different cultures around us, its one of the reasons I want to stay here. This book reflects that spirit, beautifully: a spirit of community and appreciation for our similarities and differences. If that was not enough, ten percent of the purchase price of the book (not just the profit!) will be donated to the Starlight Children’s Foundation.

Go buy this book, donate it to your library, send it to friends and keep a copy for yourself. While you’re at it, go and become a fan of Little Pickle Press on Facebook.

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Once a week, I volunteer at an urban school to spend some one on one time with any kids who need a little extra help or support. This school is located in the heart of the neighborhood, a street away from one of the toughest crime drags, surrounded by boarded up abandoned houses used as homeless shelters and drug headquarters. It’s not the type of neighborhood where you feel comfortable parking your car and walking for a couple of blocks, even in the daytime, but there’s no slick parking lot, no parent pick-up or drop-off zone.

So, in I go. White, mid-30s, middle class, clearly there “to do something.” In a community that has traditionally distrusted authority figures (for very good reasons), my skin color is a barrier to being able to give the help I really need to give. It’s also a unique experience being the only white person, and gives me a deeper appreciation for ethnic groups who have faced this issue for years. All of the children are African American, and there is already a layer of distrust. There is a bit of diversity among the teaching staff, and that gives me a starting point to get in the door.

Today I’m here to see Jayda*, one of the cutest six year olds you’d ever want to meet. On our first visit, she reads me a Dr. Seuss book from start to finish without a pause. Today she wants to draw. We sit on the hard asphalt of the playground—there’s no room for grass or trees here—and she begins to color in chalk. “What are you drawing, Jayda?” I ask politely. “You, silly,” she replies matter-of-factly. She chooses snow white chalk, even though peach is much closer to my skin tone. She draws my red glasses using the darkest pink she can find. “Close enough?” she cocks her head and awaits my response. “Close enough!” I tussle her braids and notice that she’s a little sad.

One of the hardest things for me here is to stifle my natural sympathy. The children here are tough by necessity. Sympathy seems like pity, even condescension, from a person who’s never been in your shoes. Complain to the wrong person in that neighborhood and you may get a cuff upside the head or a swat on the bottom—from anyone, family or not. Children are alternately coddled, ignored, and seriously disciplined depending on the mood, occasion, and people involved. It’s bewildering to make sense of as an adult. I’m not sure how they do it as little children, but they learn quickly that they won’t get away with much. It seems somehow emotionless to someone of my background, and I constantly fight the need to “be that person” for them. To tell them it’s okay to feel and question why. But counselors simply aren’t trustworthy people in this community; pastors, members of the community, and extended family groups fill that role.

I realize that in asking Jayda what’s wrong I’m taking a risk that I’ll get no response, but she surprises me. She’s always been very touchy-feely, wanting to touch my skin and hair and glasses, all the things that make me so different. She lays her head against my shoulder. “I’ve got a headache,” she says and tears start running down her face. I touch her forehead and notice that she feels hot. Too hot. She talks about her “work,” the mandatory homework that children must finish each night. She’s worried that her dad won’t believe she’s sick, but she can’t concentrate on doing the numbers. She shows me her notebook and I see marks wandering down the page, clearly different than her previous work.

I call her father and he comes to take her home. He is very nonchalant, doesn’t so much as take her hand or feel her forehead, and as I contrast this behavior with my own when my child is sick, I struggle not to judge. “She’s worried about her work,” I say to him, “but she shouldn’t come back until she’s been fever-free for 24 hours.” Then he does something amazing. He bends close to me, so close that I find myself intimidated.

“Ma’am,” he says politely, with an edge of something else. “My girl is going to make something out of her life. She’s smart and she’ll get that work done no matter what.” He leans down and picks up his daughter, and I see the pride in her face as she smiles shyly back at me. Sure, she’s going to be pushed in a way I can’t fathom…no laying around watching cartoons until you feel better. Probably not treated any more affectionately than before, and yet…and yet. He is fiercely proud of her. He believes in her. And in a school where every family must be at least 150% below the poverty level, his greatest dream for her is to succeed beyond his level.

Not so emotionless after all.

*names changed for privacy reasons

~ Rachel A. at Spectacular Me

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