A Note To My Children: The Terminator Is Here

A note to my children:

I have some thank yous to deliver to you this morning, and a share of genuine gratitude.

But, you ask, with furrowed brow, thankfulness and gratitude are the same, aren’t they? The dictionary says they are similar enough to be the same, but I disagree. I utter “thank you” a dozen times a day, at least. I thank the person who makes my second daily coffee at Starbucks. I thank the UPS driver as she personally hands me my package in our driveway. I thank my friends over a text thread if they happen to have olive oil I desperately need to sauté my sofrito for dinner.

Gratitude is another level of thankfulness. Gratitude is “I see you” and appreciate your place in my life and in the world. I say thank you, but I think deeply about something or someone that makes me feel gratitude.

Now that our definitions are squared away, we’ll start with the funny.

I am thankful when you poop and use the last third of the roll of toilet paper, then fail to install a new roll, even though there are two fresh ones immediately behind your head, at eye level in fact, because you are only fifty inches tall. It also makes my heart sing when you take a bath and splash water all over the linoleum, soaking the extra two rolls when we happen to stack them on the floor directly under the dispenser, just in case that location will help you remember to restock after you do your business. Your messiness also helps me go to Costco more often, which is always a treat.

I am thankful for how frequently you call my name in the morning, especially when I’m showering, and expect me to take action, naked and sopping wet with shampoo on my head, as you stare at me for a magical solution to help you locate one more sock. I love that you advocate for your needs, I really do. That is something to be celebrated, but maybe not right now.

I ooze with thankfulness when you ask me for a cookie at six-forty-five a.m. But more than the request, I am thankful that we have the same conversation about it every morning and that you choose to yell at me each time. Without this exchange, it wouldn’t feel like morning at all. It would feel, instead, like a peaceful period of time sipping my coffee and watching the news, which would be so darn boring.

I am also thankful that although there is a hamper in your room, there is a pile of clothing—no, not a pile, but more like a lake—surrounding that nearly-empty hamper. I’m not sure how that hamper is empty, but I can appreciate the effort it takes to miss it every time. You have to almost try to miss it, so I am thankful that you do that with such skill.

And when you bring slime home, despite our longstanding no-slime rule in the house, I’m thankful that, somehow, you end up sliming the carpet or your clothing. As I walk around and see the old slime wounds around the house, I am still curious how there are so many, given our rule has ostensibly been in place for years now.

There many other of your peccadillos, routines, and habits for which I could sarcastically thank you. I could say “thank you” for the yelling, the fighting, the interrupt-driven life we lead, the delays you cause me while I tackle six time-sensitive requests or tasks, when all I really want to do is take a dump and read the news. But let’s leave this here, since I think we’ve covered enough ground.

Now, to my gratitude. My sarcasm-free, genuine gratitude for you, my children—for what you are now and what you will become.

I have GRATITUDE (yes, in call caps) for any little thing you do for yourself or for the good of the entire house. Anything. Picking up stray articles of clothing, even when they aren’t yours. Taking your dirty dish to the kitchen and, for brownie points, making it all the way to the sink, or at least the portion of the counter bordering the sink. Washing yourself with soap (!) when you take a bath, so I don’t have to do it for you to ensure those filthy knees don’t show up to yet another day of school. Doing your homework as far you can possibly go before asking for help. Asking a question one or two times, then actually accepting the answer. Getting yourself a snack instead of asking me to do it. Saying “thank you” even when you don’t feel thankful, but doing it anyway because you know mom and dad need to hear it.

There are more, of course. As you grow there are more and more of your actions and words that I will be grateful for. But rather than let your maturity take its course, I’ve decided to try a different approach. It may be a bit jarring for you, but we’re going to do it anyway because I need my life back and you, each of you to a person, are very capable, even though you hide it well. Things need to change and, so we’re crystal clear with each other, here is the plan. It’s simple and takes only one sentence communicate.

Anything you can do for yourself that does not put you in danger, you will begin to do or it will not get done.

Simple, right? Your mom and I have tried incentives for actions toward this direction, chore boards, allowances, morning and evening pictorial task lists, positive coaching and reinforcement, negative punishments, threats of taking things away. The problem with all of them is they all require further action from me or your mom. An allowance requires obtaining cash and distributing it (yes, we could use Venmo…but for six-year-olds? Nah.) Chore boards require a time to review and assess. Punishments, threats, take an emotional toll and are typically not effective long term.

But I think I do know what will be effective. And it has the added benefit of me doing nothing but ‘teaching a kid to fish.’ You want toast? You know where the bread and the butter lives. Can’t reach the bread? Grab a chair and climb your four-foot, two-inch frame up there. Oh, the butter is too hard to spread? I’ll teach you how to use the Soften feature in the microwave. It’s pretty slick.

You want cucumbers and ranch dressing? You know where the vegetable peeler is and I’ve taught you how to use it, using only strokes that move away from you to protect your thumb from being cut. And that ranch dressing you love to dip the cucumbers into? It’s super easy to make: one cup mayo, one cup milk, and mix in the seasoning packet. You got this. And by ‘got this,’ I mean you really do have it because I’m not going to do it anymore (though, lest I sound like a monster, we both know mom and I will still do it for you sometimes, because we love you and you’re cute and only nine years old, but you get the point).

“Dada, get me waffles,” says six-year-old Liam sometime in the next few days.

“No, son, you can get them yourself.”

“But I could burn myself on the toaster oven!”

“That’s why I showed you where the tongs are stored.”

“I don’t even know where the waffles are!”

“Yes, you do. As we’ve talked about, they’re either up here or down in the big freezer in the garage.”

“But the garage is SCARY!”

“Then turn on the lights and ask your brother or sisters to go with you. Bye,” I will say, as I dive into the shower and attempt to seal myself off with the shower curtain.

No more tolerance. Sympathy has mostly left the building. Folding like a lawn chair after the fourth or fifth request is from a bygone era. Safety is still paramount, of course, but not that many things will truly maim you. You won’t mess with boiling water or the burners, or even the oven yet without supervision. Those will come in time.

There will still be group tasks, like cleaning the living room up every evening and helping to clean the kitchen. We will continue those and add to them as we go. But this note is focused on what you can do to help yourself and, in turn, your parents.

I am now the Terminator of excessive child-based tasks that no longer require my ownership. I will remove them by simply electing not to do them any longer. This will cause outrage, disbelief, TANTRUMS. But all of that will be short term. Long term, you will know how to fish and your mom and I will sit on the dock, beer in hand, and watch with pride as you begin to appreciate, and have gratitude for, the basic achievement of navigating life.

Wish all of us luck, please. We will need that and your eventual understanding to make these ownership changes real and lasting.  

I feel gratitude today. I feel it for you children we have now, for the children you will become by taking on ownership we can longer keep for ourselves, and for my partner in life who goes through it every day with me.

With deep love, affection, and gratitude,

Your Dad