The Magic Trick To Get Kids Doing Dishes

Once upon a time I was crazy enough to have six children. In all fairness before y’all start judging, I was only crazy enough to have three. My husband on the other hand was also crazy enough to have three and together we reached complete insanity by deciding to add his three to mine.

We live in a zoo. Okay so not literally but we are up to our necks in box creations, finger paints, dirty underwear, mis-matched socks (which if I don’t throw the odd ones out soon my husband has threatened he’ll throw them all out and air my dirty laundry.)

We somehow manage to dirty thirty three cups, twenty seven spoons, seventeen bowls, twenty one plates, every last fork, twelve knives, pineapple cutter, pizza slicer, avocado slicer, blendtech, cookie sheet, griddle, frying pan, instant pot and four pans….every single day. Anyone else?

I wish that was an exaggeration. It might be, but all moms get a hall pass for being eccentric after four kids, mmkay?

Like all the mothers out there aiming for perfection, I cook over the stove in high heels, dangly earings, a perfectly painted on face and exuding the delicious perfume I wear as to cover up any and all BO and of course my apron to match my outfit.

One hour and forty six minutes later I lay before my ravenous wolf pack a delectable twelve course meal. Three minutes into our formal family time for the evening I hear, “Is this allllll there is? You normally do 13 courses!” “Ewwwww. I hate chicken.” “For dinner tonight I’m just going to have a plate of cheese. Please pass the cheese.” “Can I add cheese to corn?” “I’m coughing cause there is too much salt on this garlic bread.” “Is that bread burned?” “I don’t think there’s enough salt on the rice.” “I haaaaaate vegetables…do I have to?” “How do I eat without chewing dad?” “Do I have to actually swallow or will it just melt in my mouth and slither down my esophogaus into my stomach?” “Is there something healthy in that smoothy?”

Seventeen minutes after serving my not so overly elated and grateful children I stand up and rinse my plate. Maintaining my dignity I play Mary Poppins and tell the kids if they don’t eat up there aint gonna be no sugar helping the medicine go down. (Code for you are not gettin dessert if you don’t eat dinner.)

My six year old magically has to poop and disappears seemingly at a very opportune moment, every single evening…the very moment clean up is under way. The eight year old is stuck at the table trying with his might mind and all strength to choke down just enough food to qualify for the said tasty treat. Our four year old whispering, “I just a little boy, I can’t do that.” Whilst the ten and thirteen year old take quiet jabs at the unfair life they live saying such things as, “The only reason you had us is so you could have someone do your dirty work.” Yes indeed. I had children to be my servants. Don’t all children know this by now?

Dragging, kicking, screaming, wailing, gnashing of teeth, pulling kids off the pot who are not pooping but lolly gagging, directing, enforcing, coaching, persuading, bossing, and threatening and demanding a clean kitchen hinging on dessert itself.

My husband and I fall into bed after a long and arduous dish battle. Alas the hum of the dishwasher plays inside our head. Children have learned there is no escape. We have succesfully taught our children parents conquer will power through extra chores, early bed times and with- holding dessert.

We play this scene day in and day out until one day…pop goes the weasle except this time it wasn’t a weasle. It was a magical idea.

After battle of the dishes #278 I looked at my wolf pack and exclaimed, “I am going to take a bath, take off these high heels, wash my face, read a book, lock my door, get in my pj’s, brush my teeth, meditate, book a cruise, plan a trip to hawaii, do some shopping on Wish and Amazon and relax, who wants to be in charge?”

Every hand darts up.

“Ahhhh. I have some leaders to choose from do I?”

ME!

Me!

Choose Me!

Me PLEASE!

PLEEEEEEEEEASE ME!?

Ooooh, I must be on to something here….for the first time they are ALL fighting for position to work, only this time they get to be the leader (also known as ‘The Boss’)

I choose the first hand in the air.

“Warren you are in charge. The thing about being the boss is that the boss has to stay until all the work is done. It is your job to see everyone is working. No one can leave until you say. You get to tell everyone what they have to do. At the end of the job, the boss will report back to me on what a good job everyone did.” Cause you know, I am still the Big Boss.

Thirty minutes later a knock came at my door, “Mommachelle?” (That’s what my bonus kids call me.) “The dishes are done.” “THEY ARE?” My chin hit the floor, ricocheted off the carpet, hit the ceiling and slapped back on to my face.

With very little expectations I walked down in my bathrobe (cause remember how I had gone to take a bath and plan out my five year vacation schedule.) only to find my kitchen sparkling. My children did it. All on their own.

Why? Well obviously it’s because I am the perfect mother and I have perfect children who are over the moon grateful I slave away for them day after day and want to show me their appreciation.

Okay, just kidding, they are completely ignorant about the time and effort to keep a house clean with all their little greasy finger prints everywhere.

It obviously was because I handed over the power. They were in control. The best part about this brilliance is when they direct or order a fellow sibling who refuses, they know first hand how it feels when they themselves refuse AB&C or XY&Z to a parent when we ask them to do something.

Alas, I now have an extra thirty minutes in my day because I gave a little power to the little people.

Who knew thatempowering the little people would perpetually provoke payback for providing pizza. :-) :-) :-)

***Disclaimer: One or two things in above article may have been slightly over or under exaggerated. Again, this is authorized by the institute of mothers supporting sane mothers.

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