Child Labor in Love

Cleaning day is a family affair that demands gulag-like industry from each dependent. However, unlike the illustrious KGB, I make an effort to soften the rigors of (domestic) labor: Edible incentives, fun songs, and Puritan guilt are all exploited to galvanize those “intrinsic motivators” about which educational theorists love to wax poetic. Then, per chance, scrubbing toilets would no longer necessitate such draconian methods like capitalist incentive- that of the likes that Mr. Obama and his entitlement junkies are loathe to embrace.

Apparently, my provincial methods to induce child labor (of the non-sweat shop variety) through reward are successful with – at least- Eowyn, as she scrubs floors alongside me, beaming magnanimously over a job well done. Perhaps it is our narrow-minded conservatism, but we hope to raise productive citizens that will only be a “burden” to Democratic strategists during election campaigns.

However, a regrettable byproduct of cleaning day is either the absence of clothes on my children or the pajamas and food remnants that remain on them until task completion. It is controlled chaos (or so I tell myself and the Fed-Ex guy who deliberates about reporting me). Thus, Eowyn’s scriptural recitation serves as a poignant reminder that my cleaning day conduct should be less KGB and more, well, (Christian) capitalist.

Left to their own devices...