That’s The Joint, That’s The Jam

posted by on 04/02/2010 | 4,500 comments (leave one of your own)

After having Zoe home for two weeks straight, one week for spring break and the other due to her sinus infection/lung infection/bulging eardrum, we have made a groundbreaking discovery.

Zoe LOVES to sort and fold laundry.


She started to feel a bit better last night, her antibiotics finally kicking in. She wandered into the bedroom where I was sorting and stacking the elements of the bane of my existence and asked if she could help. I agreed and in no time, we had blown through four loads of that crap nonsense that goes by the name of laundry.

And then she asked if she could put it away.

She went from room to room, showing the clothes to their homes. I didn’t make a big deal about it, I silently cleaned the bathroom mentally cheering and plotting how we can nurture and most importantly, CONTINUE, this newly developed interest that Zoe now has in all things laundry. I mean, she has the usual expectations placed on her, keep your room neat, don’t choke Brother and take your dishes to the sink, but no set chores. I just know if I start calling laundry a “chore” all bets are off. That would pretty much guarantee Zoe would never fold another article of clothing again.

So I did what many parents have done for generations and generations.

I bribed her with an allowance.

We negotiated a weekly amount and laid out the terms of the agreement. She is in charge of laundry. Period. No toilets, dishes, sweeping, none of that boring stuff. I wash, she sorts and folds. We will both put it away. She was geeked at the weekly amount she “convinced” me to pay, but what she doesn’t know is I probably would have paid double. Per load.

So this morning, in between bites of pancakes, my little girl happily took care of business.


When she was finished, she came over and hugged me and said, “I love laundry so much, I would do it for free!

No finer words have ever been spoken in my presence. Now if we could just teach Troy to vacuum.

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