There’s no denying that Rowan is the worst when it comes to tidying up the house. Ask any family member, and they’ll all agree. I mean, I have to nag all of the kids to clean up their shared spaces, but they will eventually get it done. A good clean-up spree usually involves a lot of bickering and whining and at least a few tears, not to mention many reminders to stop horsing around–as they’ll inevitably get distracted and end up wrestling or playing with the toys they’re meant to be putting away . I try to encourage the girls to turn the clean-up into a game, so Rowan is more apt to want to participate. But he never pulls his weight or does a fair share of the work.

More than that, he’s very into sneakily cutting corners and being hasty in his efforts. After inspecting several recent clean-up attempts, I have called into question such tactics.

Me: “Kids, why is there a stuffed raccoon shoved into the microwave of the play kitchen? The stuffed animal bin is just feet away. Someone, put it where it belongs please.”

Girls, in unison: “Rooowwaaaan!”

Rowan: *smiles sheepishly* then proceeds to put away the toy, begrudgingly

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Me: “Everything in here looks good, except for that pile of socks that someone conveniently pushed under the blue chair.”

Girls, in unison: “Rooowwaaaan!”

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Rowan (with pride):”Mom! I just cleaned up the living room toys all by myself!”

Me (shocked): “Wow! Nice job!”

And then, moments later, after readjusting the pillows on the living room couch and discovering a pile of toys underneath: “Rowan! Seriously? You thought you could get away with this? This is you cleaning up the living room?”

Rowan: “What? I picked them up off the floor!”

I had to pick up some wine a few days ago, but I had the kids with me, so I told them we’d stop next door at Petco to sweeten up the deal. What kid wants to go wine shopping? When Nora and Frances were little, I used to walk them in the stroller to That Fish Place as a sort of mini zoo experience. I was thinking this would go something like that. Instead of taking turns looking at all the animals with mild interest, the kids enthusiastically asked for various pets at every tank, cage and crate we passed.

“Mom! Can we get a turtle? Please?”

“No.”

“How about a hamster?”

“No.”

“What about this mouse? Please? It’s only six dollars. We’ll pay for everything. The cage, the food, all the stuff.”

“It’s only six dollars because nobody wants a mouse as a pet.”

“We do! Please? What about a chameleon?”

No. No. No.

The kids left the store seriously depressed. When we got home, Rowan told Liam all about the pet store. He then told us how he was planning on heading back to the pet store on his own to purchase a pet. I reminded him that he had just spent his last dollars on a Lego set, but he was unfazed.

I watched as he proceeded to pack up his red backpack with his toy binoculars, a reptile field guide, a koala notebook, and a bottle of water. He headed outside for his bike helmet and bike.

I watched from the door as he started to ride his bike up the street, wondering how far he was going to take this. Was he really going to just ride away? I didn’t really think so, but I couldn’t be sure.

Rowan got halfway up the street on his bike before he stopped and paused in front of the neighbor’s house. Then, I saw him turn around and head back down the street to our driveway. I slinked back inside the house before he could see me watching.

He returned a minute later with his backpack. “I decided I’m going to wait until nighttime to go to the pet store so it won’t be so busy to cross the road,” he said.

“OK, that seems like a smart idea,” I agreed.