The clean dishes are stacked up, high. Not in an orderly, space maximizing fashion. Like some twisted game of Jenga, they are precariously stacked with odd shaped jutting out from every side. I can’t ascertain where to start. I do know that if I choose the wrong piece, the entire stack will clatter into the sink and onto the floor, and we will actually have fewer plates than people in our house.  I also know what caused this fiasco of flatware and dishes. It’s my kid’s unmatched skill at attaining the minimum standard.

 You see, we have a house rule that requires some subjective evaluation. When you wash your dishes, if the drain board is too full to fit what you have washed, you must put away ALL the dishes. In the beginning, the rule had the desired effect, a somewhat even distribution of the greater chore. As time went on, it has evolved into a battle of will and skill, with the stacks deemed “not too big” growing increasingly larger. Granted, the time it takes to successfully balance a wet dish in just the right spot without disturbing those already in place is likely equal to the few moments it would take to just put the entire stack away. My kids have made it painfully clear, it’s about the principle, not the practicality.

 If mediocrity, meeting the minimum standard, was an Olympic event- my kids would definitely medal. I clearly remember Levi bringing home his first middle school report card. Straight C’s. I asked him one question.

“Is this the BEST you can do?”

  “C is average” He dodged my inquiry.

 “Is this the best you can do?”

 “C means I met the requirement” Another desperate feign, hoping I will forget my original question.

 “If this is really the best you can do, then I am proud of you. However, if it isn’t, you know what you have to do.” From that day forward, Levi brought home A’s, sometimes sullenly. His personal bar had been raised and it offended his sense of justice that the minimum for him was higher than the one for some of his siblings.

 Yes, I strongly believe that no legal system in the world had a sense of justice quite so refined and sensitive as that of siblings in their dealings with each other. There are times when I feel it’s purely a cohesive effort on their part to wear me down.

 “Can I have my 30 minutes on Facebook?”  Jesse will innocently ask.

 “sure” I reply, blissfully unaware of what lies ahead.

 “Can I actually have 33 minutes? Because yesterday, I had to stop early so Cheyenne could print her homework, and I never got the last 3 minutes.” While I am still reeling from the shock that the kid who adamantly refuses to learn to read the clock face took note of and mentally banked 180 seconds of perceived injustice, Cheyenne pipes in.

 “I didn’t even get my 30 minutes on Wednesday!” I know what comes next. She will want a full hour at some point. Jesse had other ideas.

 “You missed your Wednesday time because you went to Raine’s house, not because you were doing homework or chores. You don’t get to make up time if you were doing something fun.”    Apparently, there was a whole subsection of rules I wasn’t even aware of.

 “I didn’t have that much fun that day!” Cheyenne proclaimed, sensing her case was losing steam. “Raine was doing homework the whole time!”

 They look at me, and what was a simple yes or no has turned into a five minute session that now, judging by the indignant looks on their faces, screamed for justice.

 “Cheyenne,  if you had been given the choice- before you went to Raine’s- of whether you wanted to take your Facebook time or go to Raine’s, what would you have chosen?”

 Cheyenne knows her argument has been defeated, and is only consoled by the fact that the first few minutes of Jesse’s Facebook time were squandered in taking her down.   Somehow that makes it better.

I think the house rule that has gotten the most amendments is the “Two minute rule”. This rule states that if you leave your seat, you have two minutes to return and claim it before another family member is allowed to take it as theirs. However, there are oh-so-many clarifications to this rule. One, parents can take any seat, at any time. Two, if you were asked to get up BY a parent to complete a task, then you may have an unlimited reservation on the seat- provided that you do not move onto another activity that was not requested of you. Thirdly, If you abandon your seat verbally; for instance claiming you are going to bed or taking a shower, it immediately becomes available to others- even if you change your mind after having gotten up. 

 The amusing side effect of the two minute rule is watching the kids keep their seat officially claimed. In the middle of scooping ice cream or popping popcorn, they will dash into the living room, plunk their heinie on the seat, shout the obligatory “two minutes!” and return to the task at hand. Yes, it’s complicated, but much preferable to the previous rule the kids dubbed “Move your meat, lose your seat.”

 We also have a chore list that rotates weekly. There are four separate sets of tasks that need to be done with regularity. Inevitably, the responsibilities collide at times. For instance, one of the jobs is pets (feeding, watering and cleaning up any deposits they make in the yard). Another is cleaning the bathroom on a daily, or as needed, basis.  What hasn’t been clarified is what happens if one the dogs leaves something offensive in the bathroom.  Or, what if one of the dogs makes a mess in an individual bedroom? Is it the job of the person to whom the bedroom belongs, the job of the pet person? Further complicating things is the rule that the first person who sees something that needs attention is commissioned with cleaning it up. Before you ask, yes. That last one has led to a LOT of temporary blindness.  

 With four teenagers racing towards adulthood with ever increasing speed, I know the days of chore charts and two minute rules are numbered. As I prepare to slowly extricate bowls and glasses from the aforementioned stack, I try to adjust my attitude.  I know I will be looking back on the current chaos with wistfulness soon, just I think about the days of diapers and loose teeth and crayons on the wall just a few years ago. Instead of putting the dishes away, I join in the battle and ever-so-carefully, add mine to the stack.