Despite whatever dreams or hopes I have for
Devlin for his future career endeavours, I suspect he’s got a path leading
towards a role that involves finding ways to do the absolute minimum. Or
perhaps that might be a trait of the XY chromosome.
For example, when I ask him to clean up the
basement with his siblings, he makes sure to only put away the toys that belong to him, in a haphazard pile in
one of his bins.
So, it really shouldn’t have been a
surprise to me his delight in learning that his bed got made by someone, other
than his mom, while he was at his day camp session. No, we’re not staying at a
hotel. Our accommodations while I am at this continuing legal education is by
no means luxurious. Not by any stretch of the imagination. We’re staying at the
university dorm, complete with stale beer scented carpets and uncomfortable
twin beds with thin foam mattresses, not to mention the showers with the thin
trickle of water. Of course, the kids think it’s great since they’ve gotten bacon
every morning for breakfast in the cafeteria.
This morning, Ceilidh was not quite ready
when it was time to head down to breakfast. I asked Devlin to see what was
taking her so long.
Devlin: Hurry up! What are you doing?
Ceilidh: Making my bed.
I felt a sense of satisfaction that I was
raising a responsible child who didn’t need to be nagged to do the simple
everyday task of straightening the bed covers. Until I heard my son’s response:
“Don’t worry about it! There’s someone that
comes everyday who makes your bed for you! You can leave it messy!”
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