Spontaneous Storytelling for Morality

This morning, I looked around at the general mess left from yesterday's birthday party. I started loading dishes into the dish drainer as my eldest finished his breakfast. Then I told him to clean up the dining and living room.

Cue the angst. "But I just did it yesterday!"
"Does it look clean?"
"Nooooo! But that's because it got so messy so quickly!"
"It needs to be done, then."
"It's going to take me all day! It'll take five hours!"
"Then perhaps you need practice. I should have you do it every day."
"Then I'll never get any schoolwork done at all, because I won't have time!"

I'll spare you the rest. It went on for a while, and got ridiculous. Yes, more ridiculous than the notion that picking up toys and carrying dishes to the sink will take up five hours of every day, and taking up five hours of a day at any activity will prevent him from having the time to finish a curriculum that typically takes him 4-6 hours depending on the day, including breaks and food. (With a recent average of two, since we are close to the end of his year and half of his books are finished.) Anyways...

Improvisational storytelling in such situations comes to me so easily that I used to assume that every mother gained it as a natural skill, like the ability to change a diaper and remember what your five-year-old had for lunch. Since then, I have heard from people who tell me that my gift is not all that common. If it is inherited, I definitely inherited it from my mother, who does it all the time. On my father's side, my semi-famous great-uncle poet credited his mother's ability to invent songs and rhymes on the fly while cleaning the house, and engaging her children in the process as if they were playing a game. (They didn't exactly have television, or radio, or electricity, in the late 1800's Ukrainian slums.)

The skill is definitely strong in my line.

"Do you know what comes of this? Do you? The way you treat your mother is the way you will treat your wife. Oh yes, it's true. The way you treat your mother and your sisters, growing up, is the way you will treat your wife. Do you know what will happen? Let me tell you.

"At first she'll ask for your help when the house needs to be cleaned after a party, or when the kids are acting up and she can't keep ahead of her chores. You'll whine and complain just like you're doing here, try to blame everything on her..." I approximated (and may have exaggerated) the whine in his voice. "'Oh I won't have time for my job if I do that, and then I'll lose my job, and we won't have any money anymore!' So she'll ask at first, but she'll get tired of your emotional abuse, and she'll stop asking. She'll do everything herself. She'll be afraid to seek help from you.

"Guess what happens next. She burns out. She gets burned out, so exhausted she can't think, just working and working all the time, doing her chores and yours. And then do you know what she'll do? She'll divorce you." This produced a moment of silence, which I allowed to cultivate for a moment before picking up my narrative. "She'll divorce you for neglect, and for emotional abuse. And do you know what she'll say when she exits the courthouse after signing the divorce papers? She'll say..." Here I paused and changed my expression (and tone) from dramatic to a mixture of relief and slight disbelief. "'I don't have to wash his socks anymore. I don't have to take out his garbage anymore." The relief gives way to excitement. "I'm going to go out and see a movie tonight! I haven't gone out to a movie in ten years!"

Back to lecture mode. "How would you feel if your wife divorced you and then said that? You wouldn't like that, would you? Who do you think washes Daddy's socks? I do. And you know what? I don't mind doing it! Do you know why? It's because when I have a house to clean, or a party to set up, or misbehaving kids, I know he's got my back. You want to be like Daddy. He's a hard worker, and he cares for us. He might grumble a little when he has to take out the garbage, but he does not gripe at me, and he does not blame me. He does not say, 'I bet you fill it up so fast just to give me more work to do!'" Here, of course, I had cut in the kid-whiny tone again.

"So I'm going to make sure you learn. You're going to learn how to clean, and how to do it without complaining. I'm doing this for the sake of your wife, so that she will never have to go through what you put me through this morning. Do you understand?"

A mumbled yes. This is actually the first full vocalization from him, since all of my repeated questions have not incorporated any answer-me pauses, implicit or explicit.

"Good. Now clean the living room and dining room."