Challenging Chore List

As a child, the dreaded challenging chore list loomed large in my world. My parents generously granted me a small weekly allowance that I used for essentials such as Slurpees, Super Big Gulps, and jumbo packs of Skittles and Starburst. If I wanted to make a luxury purchase, such as a Gap floral tank top or a Dr. Pepper Lip Smacker Lip Gloss, I needed more serious cash.  Those are the dreaded moments that I trudged begrudgingly to check out the challenging chore list.

The challenging chore list was drawn up monthly by my mom. Most of the time, my siblings and I would stay clear of the challenging chore list, averting our eyes as my mother happily announced its arrival. The simple sheet of lined notebook paper listed ten tasks to do around the house with a designated fee next to each job depending on its level of difficulty. She highlighted assignments such as cleaning out the sludge in the neglected roof gutters, scrubbing old water stains in toilet bowl, pulling excess hair and gunk out of shower drains, and sweeping out spider webs in the dark and dusty garage.

My mother spent about an hour at our kitchen table pondering, planning, and drafting the dreaded list of doom each month. She started out with a fresh, blank sheet of notebook paper and a black ballpoint pen. She stared intently into space, scrunching her eyes, and tilting her head to one side. It was as if she was searching for the most disgusting, demoralizing, burdensome tasks possible to be carried out by her children. Suddenly, a sinister grin slowly spread across her face and she began writing feverishly. Eventually, she proudly posted the list on our pale blue living room wall with an excessive amount of yellow masking tape.

When I got desperate enough for spending money, I checked out the challenging chore list. I scanned the index of horrors, searching for the easiest and fastest job. The actual dirty deeds felt painful enough but what made it worse was my mother’s passive-aggressive micromanagement. Once I reluctantly accepted one of the challenging chores, my mother felt compelled to earnestly evaluate each slimy stage of the task. She watched me as I completed the chore, noting areas where my scouring and scrubbing skills could improve. In the end, I received the stated fee after a final evaluation during which my mom stated, “Oh. You think that is clean enough? Hmm….okay.”

I am 43 now and my mother recently went on a vacation. She mentioned she needed her plants watered.  I said I would swing by her house and tend to her plants. She replied that she wanted to pay me to make sure I actually showed up and watered her plants correctly. “Plus”, she added, “You don’t have a job so you probably need the twenty bucks.”

A week later, I stopped by her house to water the plants. I found a piece of notebook paper waiting for me on the kitchen table with a list of ten tasks related to watering the plants. The list explained how to water each specific plant and which old flower pots I should dig out of the dark and dusty garage to scrub and rinse. Number 4 explained which heavy bags of soil I should move from the corner of the yard with the rusty wheelbarrow. Number 5 explained how to dig up snails and transport them to different areas of the yard. Number 8 stated that the grass around her plants required cutting so I might as well mow the lawn while I was there. As I stared at the long list in stunned silence, a text from my mother popped up on my phone. She had sent me a twenty minute instructional video she had filmed of herself watering her plants. She asked me to watch the video and then send daily text updates with photos of the plants.

I suddenly realized I was 43 years old and doing a challenging chore list for twenty bucks.  Nothing had changed. I was back in our pale blue living room staring at a piece of notebook paper taped to the wall. I sighed and texted my therapist to set up an extra session that week.