Why I Can and You Can't: Of Responsibilities and Privileges

My kid walks in on me folding a full basket of laundry this weekend.

“Can I have the Lunchable sandwich?”

He’s talking about the premium Lunchable snack pack that isn’t just crackers, ham and cheese, it’s a mega cheese and turkey sandwich with pudding. I don’t buy junk food but Lunchables I buy on occasion as snacks for school. What can I say? imalazymama.

“What? No. That’s for school”

“PLEEEEASE MAMA!”

Every parent, no matter how good you are at sticking to your word hears these cries begging for a different answer. The test of strength. Are you titanium? Or are you graphite?

“No. Go away. I’m folding laundry”

“MAMA! I’ll do ANYTHING!”

I laugh out loud because I’ve never heard him say this before and respond with “Anything?”

He gives me his best soldier’s salute and says, “Tell me what to do ma’am”. So cute, I choke up in pure hormonal mommy fashion.

I look down at the laundry and smile, “Fold the entire basket of laundry. I’ll tell you where each thing goes after you’ve folded it and will correct you if it’s done incorrectly.

He is so overwhelmed with excitement he jumps up and does a half wiggle in the air.

We have two sayings in our home:

With Responsibility Comes Privilege

and

Decide You Want It More Than You Are Afraid of It.

In our house there is not a lot of arguments over “why can’t I but you can”. Responsibilities can be scary or annoying but taking those responsibilities on bring privileges as well. My responsibilities far outweigh his and with that I get to enjoy more things. Driving safely, keeping the house clean, putting food on the table and taking care of him. These responsibilities are coupled with privileges like: Driving, making the rules, a movie for myself before bed. He understands this. He also understands that though he is small, his practice for meeting that level of responsibility is real. Yes, the whining is still an annoying sound I have to put up with but when he asks for more privilege, he has the choice of more responsibility. He also has to decide if he is willing to put in the work and not fear it. In this case, if this boy wants to put in the annoying backbreaking work of folding a huge basket of laundry, I’ll let him have that sandwich… but he has never folded more than three articles of clothing at a time. I’m prepared for that wiggle to turn into a floppy whiny kid.

So it begins, the first shirt he folds is flopped together. Unfortunately he has a semi-anal mother that likes things done right consistently. Corners pulled and tucked, no wrinkles. Everything in its place.

“Honey, can you fold that shirt without wrinkles? Just try doing it slower.”

“Okay mama!”

A small smile on my face, I watch him and bet that sunshine attitude won’t last long. Sure enough by the third correction the whining begins. I let him know to just breath and keep going, that he’s getting better each time.

By the time he’s putting all the clothes away I’m impressed. He’s only had a couple of breakdowns but trudged through it. The kid is determined and just happy I’m there guiding him I think. Then all hell breaks lose… The socks.

He picks up the pile of socks and is ready to walk away. He thinks he’s done. “Wait, wait, wait. You have to pair the socks.” With a shrill of a thousand dying squirrels “WHAAAAAaaaaAAAaaaaAAt?! Uuuugggghhhh”, he starts crying. I don’t react and wait a couple seconds. He walks out of the room, and then comes back.

“You’re almost done dude, but you can’t complain about it. You’re doing a good job but complaining ruins it. I don’t even want to give you the sandwich if you keep complaining about it”

We have a quick lesson on the synonyms that are “complaining” and “whining”. We’ve gotten through the crying but there is a lot of deep breathing. I show him how to make a sock bomb. The deep breaths turn into some laughter for a little bit. Then his little thumbs fail him, the volcano is about to erupt and I warn him “you cry one more time and all this hard work will be for nothing. I will not give you the sandwich if you cry one more time”. He removes himself from the room to gain his composure, probably cries a little without me noticing. This isn’t our first rodeo and he knows I mean it. He walks back into the room and I help guide his little hands so he can finish the socks.

As my son ran to the kitchen to get his lunch ready, there was no doubt in my mind that he felt he deserved it. I don’t ever want him to feel like he doesn’t deserve something. Dessert because we ate good food, good food because we work and study hard, good friends because we are good friends.

He says he’s ready to go to the store and run some errands with me. I ask him to clean up the table and put everything away. He does just that.  With a deep breath and sense of accomplishment he runs over to me and stands up straight “done!” I smile and let him know he’s done a good job and I’m proud of him. He smiles back and asks “If I’m good while we’re running errands can we get frozen yogurt?” I laugh out loud “No.”