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?

A Loose Tooth

Sam's got a loose tooth. The adult teeth are coming! And we all know it takes a good 10 years before those big chicklets look like they belong to the face they pop up in far, far too early. Luckily, he's not that interested in hastening the process. I had to ask him to wiggle his tooth for the camera and haven't seen him do it since.

And he's avoiding hard foods, asking things like "When you have a loose tooth, is there anything against apples?" So I figure I've got a few weeks or so. Time enough to snap a bunch more photos of his cute grin.

Like this one from the top of the Ferris Wheel at the Victoria Day Fair at Dow's Lake.

I hope he keeps the dimples.

The Water Park

During Sam's toddlerhood in Sandy Hill, we spent many long summer afternoons in our two neighbourhood water parks—the splash pad at Chapel Street Park and the wading pool at Strathcona Park—later moving to Owl Park (or Pirate Park, as he called it) when we became suburbanites, or nearly so. So much a part of his city-kid summer were those parks, that when Grandpa pulled out the sprinkler at Laddie Lane, two-year old Sam called out excitedly to Carter, "Wookit! A water feature!" As hectic as it could sometimes be chasing after mischevious boys, I loved our time there: our little camp in the shade, complete with picnic blanket, snacks and drinks, towels, pull-ups, sunscreen, wet wipes, dry clothes ... the list goes on—honestly, I don't know how I fit it all (plus the boys!) in the wagon.

In the last year or two, we've managed just a handful of picnics at Brewer Park, where the two-level water pads complete with a high-powered canon is only part of the attraction—Sam spends as much time on the play structures as he does enjoying the water. Maybe the fact that he's in swimming lessons now and so heading to a real pool once a week is part of the reason we've not been out to the wading pools. But I think it's really just a vague sense that he might better enjoy something else. Now that Anabel is two, however, and we're looking for activities all the kids can partake in, we've renewed our interest in visiting some of Ottawa's 56 outdoor pools this summer.

When Jacquie was in town, we spent a fun afternoon and pizza picnic at Pebble Park, the kids moving back and forth between the large wading pool and the play structure. And yesterday, we logged three blast-from-the-past hours at Strathcona Park, enjoying some play time in the shallow splash pool. In this shot, Anabel and Sam are playing catch while Carter swings in the background. The kids "dove" for rings, sailed Titanic excursions, and repeatedly climbed in an out of the pool with a beach ball (chances are you can line each activity up with the right child). We took a break to feed the ducks on the river, but otherwise the kids paused their pool play only to reapply sunscreen or slurp another juice. It was like old times.

I couldn't help pseudo-spying on some of the moms who were following close on the heels of their little ones—making sure they didn't run along the pool side, that they shared their toys nicely, that they kept their sunhats on, that they were happy. I looked at their packed strollers, their little camps in the shade, and I appreciated their efforts in a way I don't remember appreciating my own. It's wonderful to be out in the park with your toddlers, of course, but it's also an exhausting undertaking—the packing, the vigilance, the lessons, the care. Looking around the pool, you can see that it's all about the kids. Every ounce of effort is about making the day a good day for them.

Sitting in the shade for a few minutes on my own, I felt the difference between this visit and our last. Sam now moves independently between the "ruins," the swings and the pool, capable of park play without a hovering mother heading off any number of potential catastrophes. Oh, he still includes me, taking me on pretend sea voyages or asking me to watch how far he can throw bread crumbs into the river. He trusts that I'm still fully available to him, still interested in his every move. But he no longer needs me to stick close by as he ventures nervously through the water. And he doesn't need help doing up his sandals, getting the straw into his juice box, etc.etc. I'm a want, but not a need.

As I watch Tracey trail along behind Anabel (making sure she doesn't slip, that she's sharing pool toys, that she keeps her sunhat on...) I realize I'm okay with leaving the "arm's reach" stage behind. I take the phrase from the wading pool rules: parents of non-swimmers and young children must stay within arm's reach. Me, I can sit up the hill a ways, enjoying the antics from a slight remove. It's nice, this relaxing of effort. Still, it's telling that this is my favourite photo of the day. The boys are sipping juice on the picnic blanket, waiting for the attendants to re-open the pool following a chlorine treatment. True, their focus may be elsewhere, but they're still very much a part of our little family camp in the shade. In so many ways they don't yet understand, they couldn't do this without us. We're still making great days for our kids. It's what moms do.