The Chore Chart

About a year ago, we posted Sam’s first chore chart on the fridge. We came up with six different responsibilities we wanted him to start assuming around the house and found clip art images for each. Then we added five blank squares below each image, space for the initials that would attest that a job was done. We didn’t ask him to make sure he did one or more of his ‘chores’ every day; in fact, it generally takes him about two months to fill in the 30 squares. When he’s done that, he can buy a new toy valued at about $25.

I can’t recall for certain what his first six responsibilities were, but his latest chart details these jobs:
(1) Help us get out the door in the morning by 8:00
(2) Help feed, water, walk and treat Hudson
(3) Help with grocery shopping, meal prep, table setting, or dishwasher loading
(4) Complete some reading/math activity sheets (forerunner to homework)
(5) Tidy his room
(6) Go to sleep in his own bed

Sam finished that sheet yesterday, planning to post two more activity sheets on the fridge and then “cash in” all three for a massive King Arthur's Castle Lego set he’s had his eye on for these many months. This is his first experiment with ‘saving up’ for a big purchase (the barrel of Lego costs nearly $100, but to make him work through four charts seems cruel) and he’s shown admirable resolve. That is, he did show admirable resolve. Right up until he inadvertantly found himself smack dab in the middle of the Loblaws toy section. The sloppy navigation was an obvious error on my part, but some sale-priced sports equipment caught my eye and slowed my steps on the way to the check-out.

And that’s when Sam saw The Joker. He’s wanted to own this “bad guy” for as long as he’s been a Batman fan. And that’s for a lot longer than he’s wanted the barrel-o-Lego. Speaking tentatively, he tested the idea of changing his mind about how to spend his earnings. “Mayyyyybe, maybe this time… I might want to get the Joker…” but then he pulled it right back, “Noooo. N-no. No. I really want the Lego set.” Had I been conscious of the dilemma brewing, I likely would have said “Smart choice!” and rolled out of the action figure aisle, but I was only half-listening to his angst-ridden conversation with Jeremy as I contemplated the relative merits of the T-ball and the junior lacrosse sets a little ways away.

Despite Daddy’s best efforts, the “should I spend” or “should I save” quandary reached a fever pitch—Sam was fighting back anxious tears, his heart racing as he tried to figure out which decision would make him happiest. It might sound like a rather silly predicament, but this is serious business to a young boy who's earned the right to freely choose. He fears Buyer’s Remorse. How could he not? If The Joker doesn’t live up to its packaged promise, then the fact that he’d be a whole chore chart behind in saving up for the Lego would sting for weeks. We respected his misgivings and tried to advise without deciding for him, to give him a comforting hug without drawing embarrassing attention.

In the end, he decided to risk that The Joker wouldn’t be there in a few months’ time, once he’d completed three more charts. He was carrying on with his original plan, and he felt good about the decision. A little proud of himself, too, I think. And so were we. But make no mistake: I’ll be ducking back to Loblaws this week to scoop up that toy and stash it away until the charts are filed. Sam’s learning plenty enough about delayed gratification, setting priorities and the value of a hard-earned dollar. At this age, he should be rewarded for those lessons.

Who’d have thought that a chance encounter with a cheap plastic clown could be so edifying?