Teenage Pressurewashers

Because the economy has kept the kids from jobs, we decided they’d work for us. For free because we were providing room and board. Of course, this forced labor is akin to communist labor, which doesn’t work so well—i.e. Matt and Jacob don’t work as diligently if they aren’t being paid.

Cal assigned the boys the job of pressure washing the deck in preparation to sealing the wood. Luke did his portion. Then Jake did his part. When Matt was doing his, Cal went outside to inspect. Luke’s section was meticulously done. Cal glanced at Jake’s; it looked adequate. On to Matt’s section. It looked like important work had been done. After all, Matthew was drenched. Matt’s section wasn’t bad. Except, on one board. On that piece of wood, Matt had emblazoning his name in the wood. Yep, he pressurewashed “Matthew” in the deck in lovely looping cursive. Cal helped Matt “erase” his name from the deck.

After that, we let the deck dry. Just before we were ready to stain the deck, I went outside to water the tomato, basil, and jalapeno plants. Then, I discovered Matt wasn’t the only one who’d tattooed his name into the deck. One corner read “Jacob.”

Jacob ended up outside with a scrub brush and soap and water. My hope is that when we finally get around to staining the deck, there won’t be any “ghosting” where the names show up again.

Hmm, yet another example of why collectivism doesn’t work.

Build a Better Baited Mousetrap

We have a mouse in our basement. Maybe, mice. Hopefully, mouse. First, the long-tailed vermin got into the dog food—chewed a lovely hole into a bin full of dog food. Then, once the dog food bin was removed, it chewed on the stored dining room table pad in the basement. Obviously my communist table wiper (see “Communist Car Wash”) had done only the minimum job. So, the table pad was removed to a safe place, and the traps came out.

My husband Cal worked at a pest control company when he was doing his Master’s degree in seminary, so vermin removal is his territory (or sphere of sovereignty, if you prefer). Cal bought snap traps—he eschews glue traps because they aren’t as humane and ought to be used only as a last resort.

One night he set his traps. One trap had mozzarella cheese—he’d sewed it to a trap with a needle and burgundy thread. The second trap he baited with dog food—it seemed to be a favorite of the mouse. The next day Cal went downstairs to survey the fruits of his labor. Sadly, the mozzarella had been eaten right off the trap and the thread lay in a neat pile on top of the unsnapped trap. The other trap was also unsnapped—and the dog food was no where to be seen.

Obviously, our mouse was not your ordinary run-of-the-mill Mickey. He must be more of a Milton. Or, maybe a she, a Murgatroid. In any case, Cal had a new strategy. Glue. Yes, he decided to glue the bait to the trap. First, he got out the Gorilla glue. I imagined the bait encased in a dried foam of unbreakable glue and said, “Honey, do you know how much that stuff swells as it dries?” (I have plenty of experience gluing on the arms and legs of Frodo and Aragorn and the various appendages of Uruk-hai, Treebeard and a massive cave troll.) At any rate, Calvin agreed and got out the Elmer’s wood glue. Once again, he baited the traps with cheese and Pedigree nuggets. But, our Murgatroid is a bright mouse-ette. This morning, it was as I suspected—she had smelled the glue and left well enough alone. Cal hasn’t decided what to do next. (We’ve been busy getting the last of Luke’s and Ariel’s scholarship papers delivered to the right place.) I’m sure that by tonight he’ll have figured out a new and better way to bait a trap. I think he’s considering chocolate. And if he doesn’t catch mice, he may catch a chocolate-lover or two.

P.S. Of course, there’s always the possibility that the mouse/mice are here as part of Oswald’s plan to take over the house/world.

Communist Car Wash

You know, it's clear to me that Marx and Engels didn't spend a lot of time with their children. If they had, they would have given up on communism before it started. Why? Let me give you an example. Have you ever given your children buckets, soap, rags and water and told them to wash the car? And, of course, it goes without saying that they aren't getting paid--they get a place to live, food to eat, a good education, etc. So, you smile at your dear offspring and then go inside the house to iron their Sunday clothes or chop vegetables for their dinner. Forty-five minutes later, your offspring, who are now wet and filthy, trudge back into the house. You assume that given their current condition, they have done a good job.
Of course, since you've been a parent for many years now, you know that "it's what's inspected not expected that gets done" and, thus, you go look at the family vehicle.
The car isn't clean--it's in a state of semi-wash. There are various factors that contribute to this. First, since collectivism wasn't working, i.e. most of the kids played with soap or squirted each other with the hose, the oldest child assigned various jobs to unpaid subordinates who chafed at this usurpation of authority and felt they got the hardest job. For example, the hubcaps are notoriously nasty and so look horrible even after their cleaning. You find the laborer given this task and ask what happened. He (n. b.: not a sister, she got out of this job by invoking feminine privilege--Euw, that's gross!) explains that he tried, but it just won't come clean. You pick up a brush and scrub the hubcap and discover there is clean metal underneath. The child assumes a posture of "shock and awe" and suggests under his breath that you ought to be doing this job, it's too hard for them.
The second problem is that the children have no stake in the vehicle--they don't care how clean the car is. They view it merely as a conveyance of their parents that allows them to schlep their stuff (fencing foils, musical instruments, and robot club goodies) from one place to another. So, it's irrelevant that most of the hood is clean except for the big blotch of dirt in the middle.
The final problem is that since they aren't getting paid, they actually hope they get fired. After all, the "management" will still provide everything they need--including dinner and freshly ironed clothes for Sunday. So, getting fired is what they're hoping for. (Though no computer time seems to be an excellent "reward" for work poorly done--but now I'm abandoning the communist analogy.)
At any rate, the communistic approach to labor is an utter failure. If Marx and Engels had spent more time with their children, we could have saved the world a lot of grief. Which brings to mind Piaget, whose theories of mind and personality could have been greatly enhanced if he'd watched his children instead of making his wife do it...but that's for another blog.