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Chore zoning—don't try this at home!

5/8/2014

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Originally published on www.familyshare.com
"Oh, my word, I've got it!" I shouted, leaping from my bed. Lying there in the dim light of the new day, I had devised a new sort of chore plan that would revolutionize that most painful task of parenting and surely would land me in some sort of parental hall of fame. So decisively brilliant was this new idea that I could actually see myself explaining and teaching it on countless talk shows. Other parents would sigh in relief and implement this new method in their own homes and it would be taught in universities for students of early childhood development.

Continuing to bask in the glow of my unprecedented brilliance, I quickly went to my laptop and made a slideshow, spreadsheets, diagrams and a handbook for each of our children. I could not wait to present it to our family that evening. All day I walked around with a smile on my face like the cat that ate the canary. It made the children pause in fearful anticipation.

After dinner, chores were completed and we all gathered in the living room. I was given the floor to present my plan and present I did.

"Zoning — the new method of chores for children," I beamed proudly.

Quizzical looks.

"Don't you see? OK, just follow along in your handbook. Each of you, rather than rotating traditional chores, will be put in charge of one particular room of the house and that will be yours to maintain. You will each have a "zone" that you are responsible for overseeing. That way, you will learn so much more. You'll understand what it means to maintain, to manage, to supervise, to oversee ... you will have complete stewardship over one small island in our home.

"Living room: Tanner, this is yours. Make sure that nothing is left in there by anyone, it is vacuumed and dusted, windows clean, things like that.

"Downstairs bathroom: Hannah, that is yours. Just make sure the toilet and sink are clean and that the trash is emptied and no one leaves things in there.

"Dining room: Grace, you take care of that room. When people finish their homework, make sure they clean up after themselves and that all places are cleared after dinner. Sweep the floor and vacuum the carpet underneath the table. Dust the buffet."

I continued down the line of children and zones, having them highlight in their handbooks the chores involved in their particular zone so that they understood completely. They all smiled at the idea and I was completely and utterly pleased with myself and ignorant of the plans they were devising behind those smiles. After our meeting was adjourned, we all had a snack and played a game and then we dismissed everyone to get ready for bed. That's where the fun began.

"Mom, you left your clipboard in the living room," Tanner grinned. "Please take it with you when you leave."

I looked him in the eye and I could swear he was channeling a foreign dictator. He was smiling, but his eyes had a sort of ominous glow.

The next morning, when I descended the stairs to the kitchen, I noticed that each child was standing at the doorway of their zone with feet shoulder-width apart, arms crossed in front of their chests, and wearing the blank but resolute expression of a palace guard. The only thing missing was a beret and sniper rifle. Their whole demeanor screamed silently, "Just you try and leave a gum wrapper in my zone."

I crept past each one and made my way into Rose's zone: the kitchen. There she stood in rubber gloves, mop and bucket at the ready, just waiting for me to spill or drop something.

I began making breakfast, but watched my back with every move. It was like cooking for a militia and fearing they might not like what I make. I cracked an egg and immediately disposed of its shell. I whisked the pancake batter, and right away washed the whisk. I was beginning to buckle under the pressure of scrutiny. What had I wrought?

I decided to hold my breath and see what the rest of the day brought. I could not have forseen the disastrous results of my revolutionary new method. No one could do anything without eyes following their every move. Nerves were fraying. I could sense a battle of epic proportion brewing. I called the children into my office and let them watch me delete the slideshow, the manual, the spreadsheets . . . and my self-nomination letter for mother of the century. 
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The Art of Dry-snitching

5/8/2014

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Originally published on www.familyshare.com
Web Tease: There is an art practiced by many siblings of tattling without actually tattling. This practice is known as "dry-snitching" and is not for the meek.
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There is an art, recently given an actual name, explained to me by one of my daughters, and universally practiced by siblings throughout history. It is the art of "dry snitching". This is the ability to tattle without actually tattling. Here are some examples of both snitching and dry-snitching. Note the subtle differences:

Snitching: Mom, Johnny smoked a cigarette.

Dry Snitching: Mom, Johnny looks so grown-up when he smokes. I bet people who see him think he’s much older.

Snitching: Dad, Becky had her boyfriend over while you were gone.

Dry Snitching: Becky’s boyfriend told the funniest joke when he was here the other night while she was babysitting us.

Snitching: I’m almost afraid to tell you. You’re going to be so mad. Sarah got a tattoo.

Dry Snitching: Sarah’s new tattoo looks great with her hot new halter-top.

This last example illustrates a bonus dry-snitch. In a single second, Tom put a halt to Sarah’s life as she knows it. While Tom gets extra snaps for subtly pointing out 2 infractions in the same simple statement, he will probably lose a sisterly alliance in the bargain. This kind of double whammy often ends up in the dry-snitched-on sibling turning state’s evidence against the perpetrator of the statement, and the resulting back and forth regurgitation of unsolicited information can render the parental units, looking something like the subject in Edvard Munch’s The Scream, in a state of utter shock and despair, wondering where exactly they were when all of this youthful pandemonium was occurring. Kids, you need to be fully aware of the years of punishment that can result from one too many dry-snitches!

Before you conclude that dry-snitching is something only for youth, read on:

Snitching: Al, I saw your wife Betty down at the bar. She was hanging on some young stud.

Dry Snitching: Al, I didn’t know Betty had any relatives in town. I saw her with what must have been her nephew down at the bar. They look like they have a very close relationship.

Snitching: Jake, Alice just spent a fortune at the department store. My wife saw her, and she said it looked like she spent about 6 month's salary on new clothes.

Dry Snitching: Jake, you old dog, you must have landed that big account. That was so sweet of you to let your wife use it for a new wardrobe. It looks like she did you right. There couldn’t be a dime left of it. What a guy! I should be more generous with my wife.

This is not an art to be practiced by the detail un-oriented or the meek and clumsy. It is a polished and refined craft that is only to be utilized by the top-notch tattler. Stay out of deep waters if you can't swim with the sharks. Either that, or make sure you have an arsenal of incriminating accusations that you, too, can use to retaliate.

Or, you could just . . . play nice. 
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    Becky Lyn Rickman

    Mom of many, servant to my cats, Cary Grant's other girlfriend (still trying to work out the logistics of that one).

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