Tonight, Joe whined in his bed for an hour at bedtime so I had him get up and help me with the chores that needed to be done before I could go to bed.
Me, matter-of-factly: "Now we've spent so much time getting you to bed that I don't have time to get my jobs done, so you are going to have to help me." I gave him the grossest of the jobs.
First job... Cleaning the whisk that is encased in hardened cheese.
He worked at the sink for 20 minutes...
Joe: "I think that's as good as it's going to get."
Me, inspecting the half-clean whisk: "Finish the job. Be a good worker."
Joe: "Well... When I'm a doctor, I'll have to clean out lots of yucky stuff."
Me: "What do you mean?"
Joe: "Like, I'll have to cut open people's hearts and stuff..."
Me: "So you've decided you're going to be a doctor when you grow up?"
Joe: "Yeah, and I'm going to work in the ER with Daddy."
Me: "Do you know what ER stands for?"
Joe: "No. Can I go to bed now?"
Second job... Poopy cloth diaper, which I don't want to relive and won't describe.
After that, I sat down to write this posting. Joe just came up to me and sleepily asked: "What are the other jobs to be done?"
Me: "I have to write this on the computer, then I'm done."
Joe, (in a, "this is silly" kind of tone): "I'm going to bed."
And he did, finally.
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