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Chores, Music and Mothers
Saturday mornings in my house are “chore day.” This is something I implemented, not from some “this is the responsible way to parent” concept, but out of sheer frustration. As a single mother, I literally just couldn’t PICK UP ONE MORE THING! Months of constant cleaning, cooking and vacuuming had finally culminated in my utter exhaustion and resentment. This resulted in a carefully prepared Family Chore Chart. I had seen this on “Nanny 911” and it seemed fairly simple. You make The Chart, design it with a rainbow of colors from your Sharpie collection, get some family input and display it prominently on the kitchen wall. You’re good to go! Easier said than done. I hadn’t anticipated the compliance component. On “Nanny 911”, the kids happily complied. Excited, they rushed to the paper and read the chart. Their stubby fingers proudly found their names and they were off, decidedly scurrying about the house to complete the assigned tasks, like busy little worker bees. I swear I could hear Disney’s “Whistle While Your Work” streaming in the background. The experience in my house was an entirely different story. Our first attempt at implementing The Chart was met with a series of blank stares. “What do you mean chores? You mean we have to do it?” from the littlest gremlin. The oldest, the leader of the insurgents whined, “Whaaat? Why do I have to do the toilets?” Out of the ever-present middle one, “How long is this gonna take me?” Eventually, it was made clear that we were all going to get through The Chart, one way or another. The responses graduated from “fits of rage” to “stomping and yelling” and finally leveled off at “incessant whining.” This Saturday morning was a mix: a 3 hour house cleaning session filled with incessant whining and intermittent bouts of yelling, peppered with my own threats of grounding and loss of TV privileges. I was still exhausted and resentful, but I was sitting in a clean house! Finally, it was bedtime. I lay in bed with my son as I did every night. My feet hurt and I was glad for the silence pervading the room. Rest. Quiet. Then, faintly at first, I heard, Sting’s “If on a Winters Night - an Album of Traditional Lullabies,” softly drifting through the hallway from the kitchen. My ears zeroed in, reaching through the silence for the clean plucks of acoustic guitar strings and the layered smoky vocals that streamed through the bedroom door … beckoning. I let the quiet melody seep into my weary flesh and flow over my worn out sense organs: a cosmic bath. Raising kids is a wonderful, love filled, maddeningly complex venture. I reflect upon it frequently and wonder if my kids will remember our home as one filled with music. I wonder if I have at least given them that: a few kind memories to take with them on their long journey into adulthood. Memories not made of consequences and chores but ones made of something simple; as simple as music drifting. That night, I lay there next to him, the dog at our feet, both of us silent, wrapped in our heads. I picture him as a teenager or young man going about his life when suddenly a thought drifts into his mind. I see his adult face suddenly shift away from the VERY IMPORTANT ADULT TASK at hand. Youth fills his eyes, welcoming the the fond memory. “My house was always filled with music when I was a kid.” he thinks. The moment pauses. There is a softening of the worry lines time has carved into his brow. Smells and feelings and pictures are worming their way into his mind; settling. I wonder if the memory will bring with it tendrils of warmth and comfort; a moment of refuge for his busy, grown-up life. The moment marches on and he is back to one of the many VERY IMPORTANT ADULT TASKS that will inevitably fill his large life. His face resumes its grown-up, self-satisfied importance. But still, the moment lingers a bit, keeping his eyes soft, relaxing his diaphragm just enough to deepen his breath. He imperceptibly settles a little deeper into himself, like dropping into an old comfy chair at the end of a long day. He is younger somehow, safe. I wonder if that’s all any mother could ever really give her kids: a few simple memories of home that linger and bring comfort to their lives as they tread forward through the hazards and pitfalls of adult life. A few simple moments that will one day drift through their minds and soften their carefully crafted adult masks. A few simple moments that offer refuge; a precious calm harbor from which to journey on ... safely.
Suzanne Wells McGrath is the Owner of Harmonic Earth LLC “deepen your practice, harmonize your world.” She is an Ayurvedic Consultant and Yoga Specialist and a Certified Instructor in Yoga, Pilates & Zumba. Contact her at harmonicearth24@gmail.com, www.HarmonicEarth.org or phone 631-261-1691. |
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