Just now, I returned from floating on a silver raft.

Not far from a quaint wooden dock.

I was stretched out on my stomach in my skirted swimsuit with the side of my face pressed against the hot plastic.

The lake, clean enough to drink, was perfect as glass. I scooped up a few handfuls and watched it drip through my fingertips into widening ripples.

As the waves of a distant boat rocked gently beneath me and lapped against the shore, I dozed in and out of a peaceful bliss . . . alone with the big blue sky and happy birds.

But then the doggone clothes dryer buzzer went off.

Poof! Daydream over.

Sigh. Back to the task at hand—making summer chore charts for my two teens and a tween.

Photo by Luke Pamer on Unsplash

Not just any chore charts, though.

Customized for each kid, these 8.5 x 11-inch agglomerations of labor include required daily and weekly tasks, little boxes for check marks, and “strongly encouraged” bonus-earning opportunities.

I even color coded the headings.

I know. I’m not sure what’s gotten into me lately.

And this is just for the rest of June. Wait until July’s charts. I’m thinking about adding a column for life goals.

By August, we might need another column for inspirational proverbs and quotes, such as “Hard work is the yeast that raises the dough” or “No one has ever drowned in their own sweat.” 🙂

As you can tell, I could really use an afternoon floating on a silver raft.

And after I tape these one-page documents of drudgery to the wall, my three urchins will probably be wishing they were floating away on something, too. After all, summer is supposed to be fun!  (Kids, I promise there will be plenty of time for fun. I like fun as much as you do!).

They also might wonder who kidnapped their real mom.

I’ve always expected them to do chores, of course. And they’re pretty good about complying (eventually). But my usual domestic management style is . . . well, let’s just say it doesn’t exactly fit into a straight-lined grid. When it comes to delegating household duties, I usually wing it, bellowing out requests and commands as I go!

But lately, the pressure to be more organized and intentional about teaching them responsibility and life skills for the future has been pressing in on my chest like a 300-pound Olympic barbell set.

Summer 10 years ago. As you can see, this picture is also the largest one featured on my current mousepad.

• This might have something to do with the fact that this time next year my oldest—who used to sell lemonade in the cul-de-sac with her little red plastic cash register—will be shopping for a twin comforter and string lights for a dorm room.

• It also might be because my middle child—who used to sleep with a special rock to keep monsters away—is morphing into his man-body so fast I can practically hear his bones creak and groan.

• And I’m guessing it’s also because my baby—who used to be perfectly content climbing in and out of the kiddie pool—is turning 13 this fall and has a summer bucket list a mile long now with things like spa nights, shopping with friends, and marathon sleepovers.

Time is dissolving.

There’s still so much to teach and instill . . .

They’re smart, motivated, good-hearted kids. I’m over-the-moon proud of them. But when it’s time for take-off, will it occur to them to wash their sheets without being asked?

Will they know to turn anything with rayon inside out before ironing it?

Will they know how long to boil an egg and that adding 1/2 teaspoon of salt to the water makes the egg easier to peel?

Will I have provided them opportunities to unclog a drain or change the bag on a vacuum cleaner?

What about all those other things of which chore charts don’t even begin to scratch the surface? Balancing checkbooks, fixing blown fuses, changing tires, reading train schedules, navigating in the wilderness without their phones . . .

A lot of stuff they’re just going to have to figure out on their own or learn by osmosis, of course. We parents can’t teach them every darn thing. 

But even so, I woke up way too early this morning with my head spinning with it all.

I needed to immerse myself in something with rows and right angles. Something that can be checked off, assuring me of progress.

√ Progress toward preparing them to become family members, roommates, life partners who pitch in without complaint.

√ Progress toward preparing them to become responsible tenants or homeowners with a breadth of experiences and know-how to solve issues as they arise.

√ Progress toward equipping each one of them to grow and expand—like widening ripples—into the resourceful and fully engaged woman or man they were created to be.

That’s what this is all about, right?  Sure, cheap labor and more time to meet deadlines and float on silver rafts (I mean on a real lake and everything) are great and all, but raising awesome humans is truly what’s at the heart of this Mom’s summer chore charts. They’ll understand that more deeply someday.

I’m 100% certain billions of amazing humans have been raised without fancy chore charts, too, though. I’ll betcha a watermelon that you and I were. 🙂 

I’m Julie Jo Severson, mom to two teens and a tween, freelance writer, editor, and co-author of HERE IN THE MIDDLE: Stories of Love, Loss, and Connection from the Ones Sandwiched in Between. 

This blog, Carvings on a Desk, is where I reconnect with my own voice swirling around in the middle. Read other recent stories.

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