Cleaning with Kids

Cleaning and chores with kids, once they're old enough, is a funny thing.
It's something they've just got to learn how to do to be functional members of society, yet teaching them is a way bigger pain than just doing it yourself. This is why a lot of people today don't know how to do jack--their parents just did not have the energy to do the same thing they would do anyway but nine times slower, half the quality, and with random bouts of crying.
But Daniel and I will not have that in our house. We WILL NOT have it!

So instead, we have this:

Me: "Sam, your room is very messy. You need to go clean it up. Please go and put all your toys away--where they go, not just anywhere-- then make your bed, pick up your books and blankets, and make sure that you don't shove stuff in the corners or stack everything on your dresser."

Sam: "Sure, mom!" Runs to her room, where I hear the Dora clean up song being belted at double speed. Amazingly, approximately 1.6 seconds later, Sam runs back in where ever I am. "DONE!"

Me: "Wow. Really? Your room is clean? If I go in there, will I be happy or sad?"

Sam: "Happy! It's clean."

Me: "That's great. So, you made your bed, and---"

Sam cuts me off: "Oh. Wait, hold on!" Runs back to her room, starts the Dora song again, and manages to reappear even faster than the first time. "My bed is made now!"

Me: "You are super speedy! So, the pillows are on?"

Sam: "Yep yep!" (This is her latest affirmative answer to anything--a super fast "yep yep." It's adorable, we love it.)

Me: "Great! And your comforter is pulled up and smoothed out?"

Sam: "oops. Hold on." Again, she runs off and sings Dora. I start to wish there was another clean up song known to preschooler-kind. This time lasts maybe 5 seconds, so she probably found a toy to play with and got distracted. "Okay," she runs in, breathing hard from all the dashing, "the comforter is up, the room is all clean. You'll be happy."

Me: "Yeah! I'm so glad you cleaned it up! I will come to inspect it soon. I can't wait to see the nice clean dresser--you remembered not to pile everything from the floor on the dresser right?"

Sam: "ummmm, hold on." You guessed it, we repeat the cycle again. As this time, she takes piles off the dresser. When she runs back, we repeat this cycle again with piles in the corners, dirty clothes piled in front of the hamper, clean clothes spilling out of drawers, and books stacked pretty much everywhere but the book bin. Maybe a few more times if she's been playing princesses or blocks, since apparently "clean up the blocks/figurines" translates to "clean up one block/figurine, then announce your are finished. Repeat for every single one on floor." After she has completed a metric mile running back and forth between her room and mine, I decide it's time to inspect her room.

What I find is a comforter pulled up awkwardly over an entire menagerie of stuffed animals, making it look like a small mountain range, decorative pillows stacked on top of each other upside down and sideways, a mountain of books in the book bin that will start cascading to the floor any second, at least one dirty shirt in front of the hamper blocking the closet door, and an entire line of toys peeking out from under the bed that obviously didn't qualify as "out" since they are 1 mm inside the bedframe and are therefore invisible to the naked eye.

Oh, and one four year old completely bursting with pride. "Isn't it great!? Are you so happy!?" She asks jumping and clasping her hands in rapture.

And I am so happy. Because even if it was like pulling teeth and herding cats--simultaneously--she did it herself. Her floors and surfaces, formerly completely covered from view, are clean, and she made the effort. I know this is the best she could do, and I am proud and happy.

But no way am I stupid enough to look inside that closet. I'm going to ride the good emotions while they last.