A conversation between Big M. and his dad

Big M. has a list of chores to do for which he earns a meager allowance. Most of these chores are pretty quick and easy for him to do and he is, for the most part, pretty good-natured about doing them.

Except for the yard work.

Oh, how he hates to do yard work: the weeding, the watering, the picking up of sticks and outside toys, the sweeping of the porch, the picking up of dog poop. Worst of all, he hates the raking. He finds it rather infuriating that there are so many leaves in our yard, considering that we have only one small tree. Our neighbor has a gigantic, old oak tree in her front yard that overlooks our yard. In Mr. EM's and my opinion, picking up the acorns and raking the leaves from that tree is a small price to pay for the shade it provides in the summer and the sheer beauty of it all the time. Big M. disagrees.

Every weekend is a never-ending litany of complaints from him about yard work, but it's ten-fold in the fall. Grumbling, groaning, whining, complaining, arguing and even crying on occasion...to no avail. We make him do it anyway and, for crying out loud, he gets paid to do it. All the drama he brings to this chore drives Mr. EM up one wall and down another and there have been many front yard battles over it in the past. It's taken a lot of restraint on Mr. EM's part, but he has finally realized that ignoring the drama is the best way to handle it, as Big M. drops it much sooner if he's not getting attention for it.

So, this morning, there they are in the front yard raking and raking and raking and raking and so on and so forth. We are finally experiencing Indian summer here along the Mississippi and our windows are open. As I'm cleaning up in the living room, I witness the following conversation:

Big M.: "Gawd, I hate this. I wish there was some kind of big vacuum that would just suck up all the leaves in a few seconds. Then they'd already be in a bag and you could just put it on the curb and be done with it."

Mr. EM: "Well, you're smart. Why don't you invent something like that? Then you'd be rich because a lot of people would buy it."

Big M. chews on this idea for a little while, then says, "Yeah. That's a good idea. Then I'd hire you to do my yard work."

Pretty clever, no?

(Little M., by the way, loves to "help" his daddy with yard work, and he especially LOVES to "rake" the leaves. Sure, he wields his little toy rake like it's a Samurai sword and makes more work for his dad and brother, rather than less, but he's enthusiastic nonetheless. To his brother's endless complaining, he can often be heard shouting, "Shut up, Pantyhose!" Now, we do get on him about the "shut up"...but, "Pantyhose"? No idea where he got that from or why he considers it an insult, but he does. In his four-year-old opinion, it is the lowest of the low.)