I've been coming over to Everett's about once a week to spend an evening with him watching Doctor Who. He gets up early in the morning and heads off to work before eight, and I usually sit here with his laptop and catch up on my favourite blogs, and my own.
|Things on the piano|
After he leaves for work, I do the dishes. The countertop is completely covered with them and I have sometimes eaten supper the night before here, and breakfast in the morning, so I figure the least I can do is wash some dishes. I can do the kid a favour by helping out.
|Things on kitchen shelf|
Last night he tells me he doesn't like it when he comes home and finds the dishes washed, and I shouldn't do it anymore. I must look at him askance, because he goes on to explain: he hates doing dishes and doesn't do them till he has no choice, but knows he must discipline himself to keep on top of the task, and when someone else has done the chore, he does not have the opportunity to practise self-discipline. As a matter of fact, he looks at the dishes throughout the week and allows himself not to do them, because "Mom will, next time she's here." And he thinks this is probably not good for him.
Where did I get this kid?
|Things on the TV|
This morning as he was leaving I mentioned being unable to laze around the house because work beckons early; it's our new production day, since the paper now comes out Mondays.
"Good," he said. "You won't have time to do the dishes then."