Mother's Calling!

I

CHILDREN, with their energies still comparatively unsubdued by the business of living, are to be depended upon to be in opposition to something or other most of the time. I am thinking at the moment of the splendid fight they can put up when it is suggested that they assume some responsibility for the work of the household.

I am not referring to merely sporadic examples of work: children are often good about giving you a lift when they happen to be on hand — particularly when the need is obvious, as when the saucepan boils over as the telephone rings.

No, what I have in mind is far less casual. It is nothing less than all the odd jobs of the household that are not performed by the parents themselves or persons in their employ. ‘Chores’ they used to call them, and still do around the farm. The sum total in any household will differ according to the physical prowess of the mother, the amount of outside service, the size of the family, and the number of animals, rabbits, puppies, and the like, dependent upon the family for attention. In any case, if the mother is not to be overworked, it is a good deal, and it is going to go on for a term of years.

In what may be called the unregenerate household, getting help from the children resolves itself into four stages, each fatiguing in itself and unnerving when performed as a complete sequence.

(1)Catching the child. This is not so simple as it sounds, since up to dinnertime, at least, the children flit through the house like birds of passage. You see your son, but when you turn to lay hands upon him you have only the echo of his voice from some vacant lot.

(2) Persuading him that the demand is legitimate and not merely some eccentricity on your part. Be prepared with a ready answer for such questions as why grass should be cut when it looks actually prettier this way, or why beds have to be made when you are going to get right back into them anyhow.

(3) Convincing any given child that he is the one to do the task assigned — not his brother or his sister, but himself. You observe that most of the children are in favor of Henry’s doing the piece of work, though one or two may ask passionately, ‘Why can’t Bill —doesn’t he ever have to do anything?’

(4) Getting him to do the work in a manner approximately consistent with the equipment on hand and with the end in view. Make your own swift decision as to what, if anything, is wrong with the plan of stacking all the soiled dishes on the kitchen floor, applying the garden hose, and thus cleansing both dishes and floor with one inspired stroke.

Any mother who has lived through such a bout would seem to have earned her resultant state of coma. But even that, after enough repetitions, she is unable to enjoy. She recalls with uneasiness that her cries for help had a certain desperate quality not approved by the psychologists. She is nagged by the thought that Henry looks ‘put upon’ and at the same time a little too pleasantly martyrized. She remembers that legendary uncle of hers who disliked work to such an extent that he went to live with the Indians and let his beard grow; and with alarm she thinks of heredity and Bill’s uncanny skill in keeping out of the laboring class. Something, she concludes, is wrong with her present methods.

Something is indeed, and it is high time that she took steps. She need not, however, torment herself with the added worry that her condition is different from that of other mothers. All of us know by heart the groan with which the mention of a simple errand upstairs is greeted (and we thought they loved us!). We too have ripped the bed apart, extracted the woolly slippers or the stuffed cat, and done the work over ourselves, muttering that it was more bother . . . Children at work are a universal problem which each individual mother solves as best she can.

II

What every mother really wants, of course, is coöperation and plenty of it — some planned distribution of labor whereby action is automatically released and allowed to flow into the proper channels. Once she realizes this, a mother of sanguine temperament may, in pleased anticipation, see herself immediately pulling the lever. But this is going too fast. I hope that she will restrain herself from announcing the new coöperative life to her household. The most ludicrous results often follow hasty action. Many of us have humiliating memories of such mass meetings — our own brightness, rapidly becoming a trifle forced; the children lounging about like sleepy cats; their shocked incredulity at what you propose: ‘Isn’t this a home? Do you want us to be some kind of a military academy?’; the angry ‘Oh, all right!’ either of children or parent. There you are with all those ideas, and only the youngest left to listen. He is sobbing, having gathered from the discussion only the general idea that his rabbits are about to starve.

No, before the mother even thinks of talking to her children she will want to mull quietly over this problem which she herself has permitted to roll up like a snowball. She might ask her friends how they are meeting it. (Disregard the statement, ‘Oh, my children all just love to help me!’ That mother is in worse case than you. Choose friends that are both helpful and honest.)

I always remember the Browns. Indeed, my children will never let me forget them. ‘Why, we’re always doing things for you!’ they say. ‘Remember how we slaved that time the Browns came?’

The classic example they refer to occurred when the cook’s exit through the back door coincided almost exactly with the arrival of some English friends through the front entrance. I had barely time to line up my family for an impassioned plea: ‘If ever I’ve done anything for you children, help me out now!’ They rallied. Under the efficient leadership of the eldest, they loosed upon the affairs of the household that energy usually reserved for baseball and hockey. Beds were made almost before the occupants were out of them, dishes were washed, floors and furniture dusted, Mr. Brown’s boots polished till they gleamed like black mirrors. It was a beautiful example of coördination.

Every mother’s classic example will, of course, be something quite different. You, perhaps, will recall the Mother’s Day program, sponsored by your son Bill and worked out by all the children — a dramatic presentation of scenes from your own life, not devoid of the implication that the story is almost told. Anything more absurd than Bill in your new spring costume it would be difficult to imagine. But your tears were not for your blue pumps. As the thing went off without a hitch, from the drawing of the curtain by Baby to the final tableau, you were thinking tenderly of all the work that must have gone into it. Bill, generally a block away when you want him, had achieved complete coöperation.

Or you may remember the time that Father took all the older children on a canoe trip; overnight the house was emptied. Left with the problem of one baby, transportable under the arm, you found your thoughts resting pityingly on poor Father. How was he getting along? How were the children taking it?

You need not have worried. When the car returned at the end of the week, all was well. Under the superficial soil, every face was radiant. When Father called out, ‘Hi, you! Give a hand here!’ they all sprang to attention. As the tale was retold, you could see them putting up the tent, gathering firewood, washing dishes and underwear in running streams, digging for worms, cleaning fish — and having fun.

So vivid was the picture of mutual helpfulness that when the last one of them was in bed, and you too prepared to take a bath, you were almost surprised by the sight that greeted you. For a moment you played with the notion of waking everybody up to coöperate in the cleaning out of your tub. But of course you didn’t; that would have been ‘mean.’ Only before you joined Father in the room which his presence had filled with a woodsy odor of bacon, gasoline, fish, and the earthy aroma of human endeavor, you did permit yourself one wistful calculation: This spirit of coöperation in the wilds, you computed, would, if tamed, have saved you in the neighborhood of ten thousand dollars for service in the last fifteen years, plus all your gray hairs.

These three cases will find counterparts in the experience of every mother, and from such illustrative material she may advance tentatively to this question: What, if any, are the common elements in these three examples of family coöperation?

Well, first of all, there was in every case a definite end in view — a shining house to dazzle the Browns, a good show, shelter and fish in Canada.

Next there was praise, unstintedly given. I am not saying that liking to be praised is a worthy attitude on the part of our children; no doubt they should be above it. I merely point out the fact that they seem to thrive on appreciation.

In each case, every child felt himself to be personally indispensable, a small cog but a necessary one. (One has only to omit doing it to discover that the careful cleaning of the fish is as important as the baiting and frying.)

In every case, the element of pleasure entered in.

In every case, there was a firm hand in control. Children, like their elders, seldom spring together in a coördinated fashion, selecting major and minor rôles in an enterprise according to their fitness for the part. Someone in the background is directing with foresight and vigor. He is utilizing all the forces, and ten to one he got up early to do it. Look at Bill. Look at Father! Yes, look at Father and grasp this thought firmly: Unless I am greatly mistaken, the father is the most imperfectly utilized force in modern society. He is the only one in the family who can really grasp your need for better labor conditions. He knows the individual setup, and the money earned and spent. He will know too whether the matter had better be settled ex cathedra, letting the children catch the general drift as they do the work assigned them, or whether a meeting and discussion can be risked.

III

Such a meeting, if it is well planned, will be fun, but certain rules must be observed.

First, make an engagement with all the children old enough to take part in a sustained discussion. It will be time enough later to relay in suitable language to the three-year-old that she is a big girl now and able to pick up her toys, and that toys left around are likely to disappear; or to the six-year-old that his part is the pleasant one of feeding the livestock, who will hardly be able to wait for his coming. As for the older children, choose a time that will take into consideration the basketball game, the dance, the meeting of all secret organizations, and the handing in of all compositions. And Heaven help you if you have forgotten your own calendar, for this is a date that, once made, must be kept.

Now just sit back and let Father preside. Listen to him as he expounds the problem in his best committee voice, robust enough to absorb any small squeaks. Watch your children in parliamentary action. They may start to gum things up at first, but as soon as they get the idea that something is going through, with or without their approval, they will take hold. Don’t be surprised at seeing them work the thing out quietly; they do it every day in school. They may want to elect a leader to protect their interests or they may prefer to have you divide up the work. Accept either decision amicably.

They can also be amazingly logical. They will understand perfectly that it is the needs of your particular household that must be considered, and that other families with a different income and half or twice as many children do not really enter in and only prolong discussion.

Watch your temper when Mary asks, ‘And what is Mother going to be doing all this time?’ The correct answer is, ‘Stay home some day and find out!’ and Father will probably make it.

Try not to expect mature reactions from children. Don’t expect the child whom you recently nursed through earache to think much about it after the event. His ear is all right now and he has gone on to other things. If he were to put it into words, as he probably won’t, he might say, ‘Sure, you were swell! But that’s what mothers are for, isn’t it?’ Maternal care he dockets with food and shelter —just as we did at the same age.

Remember that a task easy enough for a grown person may seem literally impossible to a child. Drying dishes used always to be my forte, but I remember my tears the night there were eleven glasses in the dishpan.

In discussing plans for work, you may find that a child hankers to take over some particular task that you have always done. I once knew a girl who would find an excuse to stay home from church, and then, of all things, mop the kitchen floor. All that sloshing around gave an outlet to an adventurous spirit. Well, provided they do the work as well as you (Look out, they may go you one better!), aren’t you willing to trade? It may settle forever the suspicion that you are getting off easily.

Don’t hurry the children into decisions. Give them the same chance to get oriented that you yourself took.

Remember, and this is important in planning a family work program, that proper allowance must be made for emergencies. Guests come under this heading (When Aunt Martha pops in unexpectedly from Fairport, how can you show her the city and do your work too?); and temporary loss of paid service; and, of course, sickness. So many of these emergencies can be counted upon that, unless they are smoothly provided for, a mother will still be constantly in need of rescue. Work out a scheme that will include such crises; and, if you see one in the offing, don’t hoard the knowledge, springing it on the family at the last minute. Give them a chance to readjust. The children can decide whether they prefer to be on call in rotation or whether you should pick a number. In either case they learn that a crisis has to be met with a special spurt of energy.

Suppose that the child, after every reasonable effort on your part has been made, continues to shirk. In ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, he will simply have to be made to help. It is deplorable, and a parent will want to examine his own tactics carefully; but in the last analysis it is the child that must fall into step. Please omit all such phrases as ‘After all we’ve done for you!’ etc., etc. The question must be met on the impersonal grounds of fairness.

IV

Should service be paid for — either normal, everyday service or extraordinary labor? How I wish I knew! The two schools of thought are vociferous and sure. Those who maintain that the laborer is worthy of his hire look with belligerence upon those who contend that paying the child commercializes his attitude to his home.

All would agree, I should think, that the practice of doling out small sums for little tasks involves too much bookkeeping. You may forget, in paying Bill ten cents for the lawn this week, that last Wednesday afternoon at three o’clock you paid his brother Henry fifteen; Bill will not. Life on these terms becomes a frenzied memory contest. Some general payment, to be used by the child as an allowance, would be better. Even better, I am inclined to think, is keeping the two ideas separate. The child enjoys the life of the family, and in turn does his part. He has certain needs and is apportioned his rightful share of the family income.

It does seem reasonable to say once in a while, ‘Hurrah! We’re coming out ahead this month. Now you children decide whether we’ll buy a radio or a puppy.’

There are times too when, with the family functioning according to a workedout plan, it may be possible to say something like this: ‘I’m tired of the inefficient maids the agencies send me. I believe I could manage alone, if you children could each give a little more help. Now for this and this I’m prepared to pay so much.’ The thing then becomes a dignified giving and receiving of salary, with the implication that anyone not earning the salary is fired.

I am not unaware that I have been taking for granted the existence of outside, paid service. In doing so, I have purposely set myself a more difficult task, since it is my theory that it is easier to get children to help when such service does not exist. Friendly children react favorably to the sight of their mother actually performing the routine tasks of the household. If she is seen in the act of scrubbing a floor, washing dishes, or cooking the food the family enjoys, she is admittedly busy. It may be thirty years before her children will understand that running a complicated household with several employees is also a form of labor.

Working out this system (for I myself am just getting ready for that first mass meeting), I pause, pleased at all my findings — and the telephone rings. It proves to be my fifteen-year-old daughter. She is a kindly child and it has occurred to her that I might like to know in advance that she is on her way home with twelve of her best friends. ‘Don’t bother to do a thing!’ she adjures me, and adds, ‘I suppose we have cookies or something.’

We haven’t; but before my mind, always my weak point, has begun to function, I have an ovenful. Then — wait a minute! This isn’t getting set for cooperation; it is a spineless following of the path of least resistance. I hesitate. The cookies send forth a good smell. Just this once, I decide; but next Monday morning, bright and early . . .