Magic Box

So Sherronda and I were talking about how we walk through our houses and always see something that needs to be done, but we're already doing something else and end up forgetting about the other thing.  Sherronda joked about just having a hat set out to drop chores in as she walks by it.

That led to this idea.

And, by golly, it actually works!

Get a Kleenex box  (do I really need to tell you to make sure it's empty) and decorate it in a kid-appealing way.

Duct Tape is freakin tie-dyed now---how awesome is that?!

Cut strips of colorful paper and write either a chore or a reward on each one.  Include a time limit with each.

and don't be trying to pick "The Neverending Story"or some other 1000 page bullshit.  We're doing "When Dog Was Little"

Fold them up and put them in the box, have the kids take turns pulling one sheet out.  Whatever they pull, set the timer for the allotted time and watch them scramble.  If they get the chore done before time is up, that time gets added to the next activity/chore chosen.  If they don't finish it in time, then it goes back in the box to get pulled again.

TRICKS:
color/decorations:  the kids think it's a toy or a game.
the whole "choice" thing:  makes em think they're actually controlling what they do (ha!)
time limits: they don't take all damn day on one thing (especially the rewards)
chores vs rewards:  the element of surprise.  They never know if what they pull out will be work or play.  Also, they'll do chores more quickly so they can have that time built up, and so they can hurry back and pick again to see if they'll get something better.

EXAMPLES:
Make bed  :07
Get out laundry  :03
Dance off  1 song
Clean bathroom  :10
Put books on shelves NEATLY DAMMIT  :08
Karaoke  :10


Then, when they're doing the last chore, slip a super extra awesome reward in the box to get pulled last, like Wii play time or pizza for dinner or some shit they really get stupid over.

This works with the kids, every time.  The only bad thing (as Sherronda predicted when I shot the idea at her) is that most days, I don't feel like doing it.  It's kind of a pain in the ass to supervise, and it's hard trying to get my stuff done. . . hmm, maybe I should make a Magic Box for me.

And don't ask me why we call it that, it's something the Princess came up with.

I'll be revising the box soon.  Our pretty purple one has somehow been syruped.  Sigh.  I really need to start locking up the kitchen at night.

I Don't Like Birthdays

One of my greatest fears has always been gettin old.  Not just old, but old without any stories to tell, without any significant accomplishments.

No--although adorably awesome, these don't count. I've seen plenty of lazy fucktards make cute babies.

My entire family (the ones who speak to me, anyway) live within 5 miles of me, and have done so for decades.  I've seen them grow old around me, and that's about all that's changed.  I used to get so excited when my parents talked about moving---Dad would be up for a promotion, and we'd have a choice of 3 other states to go to.  Or, there was the time we actually went out looking at houses in different parts of the county.  I was freakin thrilled at the prospect of something, somewhere new.

It never happened.  We stayed in the same damn house, and built on new rooms every few years.

And when my hubby and I got preggers and tried to live in his hometown, a couple hours away, we couldn't do it.  Those people were self-righteous idiots.  We came back here, and, without any experience or degrees, there wasn't a whole lot for us.  If my parents weren't so generous and eager to get us out of their damn house, we'd be homeless.

Instead, we're in the house my great-grandfather built a million years ago.  The pipes are made from dinosaur bones, which are deteriorated to the point of uselessness.  Methuselah is buried in the freakin crawlspace.

And we sit here, getting older and older.  Nothing is changing, except for the wrinkles and new stains on the carpet.

I see my family, my friends, myself, all growing older, and it depresses the hell out of me.  I tend to watch everyone's birthdays creep up on the calendar and hold my breath until they pass me by.  Sometimes I remember to get gifts, but more often I don't.  I try to ignore the ones I love aging, which isn't taken too kindly around here and, in my parents' case, is always thrown back at me in attempts to create a guilt trip.  I don't fall for that trap, but I don't explain myself either.

There are a few people I know who go all out for birthdays, so I try to make a biggie of their's.  I still suck at it.  But I try.  Just please know that it about hurts to do so, but I know it's something you really, really care about.

This chick makes me do stupid shit on birthdays, but she also makes me laugh so I allow it.  And yeah, that crown says, "IT'S MY BIRFDAY!"

When I was a teen, I never saw my life past 20.  I always figured it was because that's when I'd die.  Then I hit 20, and 21, and 28. . . that shit ain't fair.  It's all still the same old crap, and it looks like it's never gonna change.  My life will be the same as my parents', and my grandparents', and so on and so forth.  I mean, apparently it's meant to be that way---I married a damn Marine and still managed to stay on the same friggin road I was raised on, what the hell?

Even my kids' birthdays depress me.  What happened to my babies, those sweet chunky munkies with toothless grins and cuddly naps?  Now, the older they get, the more they talk back, the bigger messes they make, the louder they cry and whine and argue. . . I really want to just rewind the past 10 years and do it all over again, and this time maybe do it right.  Or, at least, less wrong.  I just wish I could figure out what was wrong.