A feeling of hate rose up in his throat. He was the older brother, shouldn’t he be the one doing whatever he wanted? No, no. Apparently he should be the one setting the example. Oh yes, setting the example for the kid who hated him oh so dearly. He spat at the ground and mumbled about “no-good brothers” and “no-good parents with their no-good theories about no-good life.”
…Like I’ve ever had any of those in my life.
Ha.
Ha.
Ha.
OK, but sometimes loving people is a chore; specifically putting up with their bullshit.
But, when it DOES come to the chore of loving people, the allowance I get in return is sufficient, to say the least.
There’s one word she can never bear to hear.
When it reaches her ears, she immediately stiffens and looks at her feet. You can call her name, tell her to go do them quickly and it will be over, and she simply looks up at you. Behind her uniquely amber eyes, you can see a montage of painful memories being brought back by that one word.
To her, chores are simply another form of cruel torture.
“i hate this!” I shouted down the stairs while taking out the trash. “I HATE doing chores!” Next thing ya know, the trash bag splits. GREAT. I thought. This is just making my night!
It’s odd, isn’t it? Chores… Parents start with all the chores, only half-remembering how to do them. They bang into one another in the hallways, and smile, and laugh until the baby starts crying in the next room because the electric cradle rocker went off when the power blew, which is why the parents are sweeping the kitchen floor instead of vacuuming in the first place.
By the time little kiddie grows up enough to start doing simple tasks, mommy and daddy are good at divvying up the jobs. But because Little Johnny needs to learn responsibility, they begin to give over little sections of the work. Easy things first, like dusting and picking up his room. Then they realize how nice it is to be able to skip that part of their own chores. For a while, everyone is happy until Little Johnny grows a little more and then he’s cleaning the bathrooms and doing dishes, too. For a while that’s enough. Mommy and Daddy have free time! They lounge around outside on the patio, trying to decide what they can possibly do on a summer’s day when the sky is empty. Watching TV usually sounds like a good option.
So they watch TV and Little Johnny takes over the rest of the chores, too. He gets pretty good at them, but by then he’s eighteen and ready to move out of the house, on to college.
Mommy and Daddy send him off with well-wishes and hugs and smiles, thinking how nice it will be to have peace and quiet again. And maybe the house will actually be clean for a chance.
Mommy and Daddy watch TV, and when dinner isn’t ready at six, Mommy goes to remind Johnny to turn the stove on. Only… Little Johnny isn’t there. He’s away. So Mommy turns the stove on, except it shrieks at her because the back left burner broke three months ago and Johnny never had enough allowance to pay for it to be fixed.
The dinner isn’t bad. A bit burnt, maybe, but that’s no surprise considering Mommy hasn’t used the stove since Johnny was old enough to cook for everyone.
Then it’s Saturday and Daddy is watching TV while Mommy reacquaints herself with the kitchen devices and Daddy realizes that there is dust on the TV screen. He calls for Johnny, to tell him that it needs to be dusted in here… Except Johnny isn’t home to dust.
So Daddy stands up and lumbers to the closet where all the cleaning stuff used to be kept only to find that it was all moved because Little Johnny hadn’t been able to reach that high, and Big Johnny had never seen a reason to put everything back. Daddy finds it all after wandering around the house, cursing under his breath, but then forgets what he had wanted the dust cloth for. He puts it back, goes to the TV room where dinner is waiting with Mommy and sees the dirt on the screen, so he has to go back to the stash and wipe off the TV and by then of course, dinner is cold because the High button on the microwave doesn’t work the way it’s supposed to anymore, and the TV dinner was only lukewarm to begin with.
So Daddy gets upset, but keeps it inside, and Mommy sees all the dissatisfied looks and pronounces herself finished with cooking home meals; from now on, dinner will be eaten out.
Daddy argues that they can’t eat out if they can’t afford it, and of course Mommy demands to know what in blazes he is talking about. So it turns out that Daddy actually hired someone to help out with household duties so there is no money for eating out; not if they want to keep funding Little Johnny’s tuition money.
And there Daddy stops. And Mommy stops. And they look at each other and nod. Daddy calls the cleaning lady to cancel and gets stuck in a conversation with a woman who speaks English as her fifteenth non-fluent language. Mommy on the other hand is on her cell, talking to the head of admissions for Little Johnny’s school demanding to know why the tuition can’t be refunded if they pull their boy out of college. Maybe a few nasty words pass between them as well, but because Daddy is jabbering away in Ig-pay Atin-lay to the woman on the phone who cleans ouses-hay, it’s a little hard to hear. (That’s her nineteenth language.)
Around the same time, Little Johnny is headed home with a friend in that friend’s older sister’s ex-boyfriend’s younger brother’s pickup truck with one wheel that has a slight tendency to point out sideways like a stuck shopping cart.
The two of them are discussing girls and teachers and women and movie stars and the sex neither one has gotten up the courage to ask for yet. But between them, they figure they have enough manliness to date any girl that isn’t into women, too. Or maybe even one that is, with the right brand of makeup on the not-quite owner of the truck.
Because of the discussion, and the music that the car next to them started to play really loudly, (and mind, it was a good song; good enough that Johnny turned on the awful pickup radio so he could sing along) and the addictive chorus that just demands for casual sing-alongers to close their eyes (and for serious sing-alongers to get down and boogie), Johnny’s friend’s older sister’s ex-boyfriend’s younger brother’s pickup went through a red light by accident and didn’t quite make it all the way before one of those huge trucks could throw on his breaks, swearing fit to make a sailor blush as his cab crunched into the ratty old pickup and sent it flying two lanes over onto the roof of an old lady’s car as she was on her way back from her twin sister’s funeral.
Both boys were shook up a bit and understandably so, but besides a few cuts and scrapes and bruises, neither thought the other was all that badly off and they even got to laughing about it, despite being shook up as well as a pitcher of fresh lemonade. At least, until Johnny’s friend went to push the accelerator and realized his legs weren’t moving. So Johnny tried and found he was pretty un-moving as well.
The fire department and the police had all been alerted by then, and the boys were just there, waiting when the sires came because there was no way they’d be able to walk if they couldn’t even drive.
A friendly looking policeman with a nose that was too big for his skinny face poked his head in and asked if either one of ’em had family they wanted called. Johnny’s friend said yes and gave numbers. So Johnny did likewise and the phone calls were made though Johnny was told that the line to his house was busy still and was there another number? But no, there wasn’t so on the way to the hospital Johnny stared at the ceiling, wondering exactly who his Mommy or Daddy had been talking to and why.
Johnny’s friends’ parents met them at the hospital but the calls still weren’t getting through to Johnny’s house, so he sat on the other side of the room, trying to ignore the happy/worried sounds on the opposite side of the thin white curtain the hospital staff had put up in the name of privacy.
An hour later when Johnny’s friend was moved to another wing in the hospital, Johnny’s parents finally showed up and they had as joy filled a reunion as could possibly be enjoyed under such circumstances, beginning of course with the news that Johnny’s mother had successfully withdrawn him from college and now he could live at home again and do chores so that the college money could go to better use, paying off medical bills.
Johnny wanted to know who else in the family had gotten hurt, since the money was pulled before he’d even managed to get a call to his parents about the accident.
Daddy and Mommy exchanged guilty looks.
Well… It’s odd, isn’t it? Chores…
[Editor’s note: you apparently hold the world’s typing record of 1379 WPM.)
There are always chores to do. But when you think o f it the word chores has many negative connotations to it. And if you really think about it chores are just the normal stuff of life. Nothing really odious or onerous just the daily tasks that everything has to do
I already wrote about Chores, I don’t really like chores. I feel like Cinderella when I do chores; I don’t like to be Cinderella, I wish I was the Fairy God Mother who could make Cinderella not a chore-do-er. You know?
The laundry, warm, soft, smelling of the dryer still. I burrow deep under the shirts and pants and socks and napkins, savoring the vestiges of heat like a cat in a patch of sun. I should be folding, but this is too safe, too cozy. for now, I’ll just lie still and compare my situation to that of an infant in the womb.
They’re such a necessary evil…I would much prefer not to do them most days. But then, when I am away from home and don’t have the chores that structure my home time, I feel lost and lethargic, and it is a relief to get back to responsibility.
that’s all chores are really – responsibility of a smaller sort. It’s nice to have them sometimes, when you want to remember that you aren’t just a bum.
Chores drive me insane! They make me work! However they prepare us for the real world, and they give us discipline, as much as I hate chores, I do not mind doing them and preparing myself for the life ahead of me. They scream my name when they need to be done, and they don’t stop shouting until completed
the chores of life are not ones that we are told to do, it’s the ones that we make ourselves do because we know that they need to be done. We may not like them, but we do them anyway because if we don’t do it, who will? Someone? Or no one. We don’t know so we do it to make sure it gets done.
Chores were the bane of my existence, the one thing that would put me to sleep right away. Now? I love them. A clean house, with clean things in it, means a clean mind. I like to relax, meditate, and think about how nice it is to have clean things.
chores are the worst thing I would have to do on a daily basis. although I wish I was a stay at home mom rather than working all the time. Chores may get annoying but they’re not as stressful as working in this office. omg chores would be the bomb diggity. yay for chores. chores arent so bad afterall
The line grew heavier and heavier carrying the weight of clean laundry; like a sad line of music that would dip down in the middle before rising up again into some sort of resolution.
oh my goodness. i have been gone away from the house for five days. my son and i went to spend the time with my bestie and her kids. good times.. from saturday the 3rd through yesterday. i realized when i got home that my chores had been neglected. dishes, laundry, grocery shopping, and the like. boooooo!
Can you teach yourself responsibilty? well of course, there is only so much your parents can teach throughout the years by example. Now its time for th real deal, time to do some chores. Responsibilty at its finest.
These are things that every kid dreads. A parent calls for their kid and the first that comes to mind in the child is “oh I hope that it’s not chores, they’re the worst.” The parent obviously needs the kid to do chores and makes the kids under any circumstances necessary.
I dont have any chores. But my friend Casey does. She has to clean her entire house. Allllll the time. I rarely do anything. I vacuum occasionally. And my other friend Lucy has to vacuum everyday. It’s crazy. It’s unneccessay. Thats it.
Something that make our hands more than art. The kind of work my grandfather taught my mother to do. The kind of work that hasn’t existed since before I was born. Bringing in milk fresh from the cow; picking the right eggs. Loving them.
i am a sixteen year old that doesn’t want to do chores i am an eigth grader who has too much homework because you sent me to a private school to do your dishes, mom! i am nineteen years old and I only live at home because it is free and i’m getting an education (meaning that I’m up every night smoking bowls and philosophizing with dumb blonde chicks that don’t know how great life is when you don’t see it as a chore. life is a gift, like a booty call or a stripper giving you her number.
doing the dishes suck, i hate prune-y hands. i dont mind doing thr laundry though because i need clean clothes. vaccuuming isnt bad either. i like lysol disinfectant wipes too
suck. i hate them i get them everyday. welll, maybe there not that bad. not as bad as they could be. i dislike doing the dishes. dirty gross ugh=[ noooo. i also don’t enjoy vacuming.
I hate chores. Sure, they’re important and they get things done and I’m supposed help out around the house, but I can’t exactly help being irritated whenever I’m asked to do something trivial and annoying like emptying the dishwasher or walking the dog. I’d rather just sit on my butt.
I was never forced to do chores as a child; my cousins, on the other hand, were used as slaves in their home. My Aunt wasted her days away, allowing her children to care solely for the house.
I’m home from college and the summer is hot. As my skin tans I am nagged by the inconveniences of living back at home with my parents. Chores. Helping around the house. I’m finally old enough to appreciate the support and love that my parents have given me and want to return the favor. Yet it is still hard to transition to the free life I have at school and the restrictions and obligations I have at home.
i have a lot of them, including mowing the lawn, taking care of the daog, cooking, cleaning, laundry and dishes, i understand having them but they’re a pain and I can deal without them
so i have time left over so ill say: it’s a noun :)
WORK BEING DONE IN THE HOUSE AS AWAY KEEPING THE HOUSE IN GOOD CONDITION
A feeling of hate rose up in his throat. He was the older brother, shouldn’t he be the one doing whatever he wanted? No, no. Apparently he should be the one setting the example. Oh yes, setting the example for the kid who hated him oh so dearly. He spat at the ground and mumbled about “no-good brothers” and “no-good parents with their no-good theories about no-good life.”
if being my friend was a chore, i’m glad you’re done. were you paid well?
…Like I’ve ever had any of those in my life.
Ha.
Ha.
Ha.
OK, but sometimes loving people is a chore; specifically putting up with their bullshit.
But, when it DOES come to the chore of loving people, the allowance I get in return is sufficient, to say the least.
oh chores how much I hate you, I know things have to get done, but must you really be so annoying? I’d rather sleep….sorry chores maybe later?
There’s one word she can never bear to hear.
When it reaches her ears, she immediately stiffens and looks at her feet. You can call her name, tell her to go do them quickly and it will be over, and she simply looks up at you. Behind her uniquely amber eyes, you can see a montage of painful memories being brought back by that one word.
To her, chores are simply another form of cruel torture.
“i hate this!” I shouted down the stairs while taking out the trash. “I HATE doing chores!” Next thing ya know, the trash bag splits. GREAT. I thought. This is just making my night!
It’s odd, isn’t it? Chores… Parents start with all the chores, only half-remembering how to do them. They bang into one another in the hallways, and smile, and laugh until the baby starts crying in the next room because the electric cradle rocker went off when the power blew, which is why the parents are sweeping the kitchen floor instead of vacuuming in the first place.
By the time little kiddie grows up enough to start doing simple tasks, mommy and daddy are good at divvying up the jobs. But because Little Johnny needs to learn responsibility, they begin to give over little sections of the work. Easy things first, like dusting and picking up his room. Then they realize how nice it is to be able to skip that part of their own chores. For a while, everyone is happy until Little Johnny grows a little more and then he’s cleaning the bathrooms and doing dishes, too. For a while that’s enough. Mommy and Daddy have free time! They lounge around outside on the patio, trying to decide what they can possibly do on a summer’s day when the sky is empty. Watching TV usually sounds like a good option.
So they watch TV and Little Johnny takes over the rest of the chores, too. He gets pretty good at them, but by then he’s eighteen and ready to move out of the house, on to college.
Mommy and Daddy send him off with well-wishes and hugs and smiles, thinking how nice it will be to have peace and quiet again. And maybe the house will actually be clean for a chance.
Mommy and Daddy watch TV, and when dinner isn’t ready at six, Mommy goes to remind Johnny to turn the stove on. Only… Little Johnny isn’t there. He’s away. So Mommy turns the stove on, except it shrieks at her because the back left burner broke three months ago and Johnny never had enough allowance to pay for it to be fixed.
The dinner isn’t bad. A bit burnt, maybe, but that’s no surprise considering Mommy hasn’t used the stove since Johnny was old enough to cook for everyone.
Then it’s Saturday and Daddy is watching TV while Mommy reacquaints herself with the kitchen devices and Daddy realizes that there is dust on the TV screen. He calls for Johnny, to tell him that it needs to be dusted in here… Except Johnny isn’t home to dust.
So Daddy stands up and lumbers to the closet where all the cleaning stuff used to be kept only to find that it was all moved because Little Johnny hadn’t been able to reach that high, and Big Johnny had never seen a reason to put everything back. Daddy finds it all after wandering around the house, cursing under his breath, but then forgets what he had wanted the dust cloth for. He puts it back, goes to the TV room where dinner is waiting with Mommy and sees the dirt on the screen, so he has to go back to the stash and wipe off the TV and by then of course, dinner is cold because the High button on the microwave doesn’t work the way it’s supposed to anymore, and the TV dinner was only lukewarm to begin with.
So Daddy gets upset, but keeps it inside, and Mommy sees all the dissatisfied looks and pronounces herself finished with cooking home meals; from now on, dinner will be eaten out.
Daddy argues that they can’t eat out if they can’t afford it, and of course Mommy demands to know what in blazes he is talking about. So it turns out that Daddy actually hired someone to help out with household duties so there is no money for eating out; not if they want to keep funding Little Johnny’s tuition money.
And there Daddy stops. And Mommy stops. And they look at each other and nod. Daddy calls the cleaning lady to cancel and gets stuck in a conversation with a woman who speaks English as her fifteenth non-fluent language. Mommy on the other hand is on her cell, talking to the head of admissions for Little Johnny’s school demanding to know why the tuition can’t be refunded if they pull their boy out of college. Maybe a few nasty words pass between them as well, but because Daddy is jabbering away in Ig-pay Atin-lay to the woman on the phone who cleans ouses-hay, it’s a little hard to hear. (That’s her nineteenth language.)
Around the same time, Little Johnny is headed home with a friend in that friend’s older sister’s ex-boyfriend’s younger brother’s pickup truck with one wheel that has a slight tendency to point out sideways like a stuck shopping cart.
The two of them are discussing girls and teachers and women and movie stars and the sex neither one has gotten up the courage to ask for yet. But between them, they figure they have enough manliness to date any girl that isn’t into women, too. Or maybe even one that is, with the right brand of makeup on the not-quite owner of the truck.
Because of the discussion, and the music that the car next to them started to play really loudly, (and mind, it was a good song; good enough that Johnny turned on the awful pickup radio so he could sing along) and the addictive chorus that just demands for casual sing-alongers to close their eyes (and for serious sing-alongers to get down and boogie), Johnny’s friend’s older sister’s ex-boyfriend’s younger brother’s pickup went through a red light by accident and didn’t quite make it all the way before one of those huge trucks could throw on his breaks, swearing fit to make a sailor blush as his cab crunched into the ratty old pickup and sent it flying two lanes over onto the roof of an old lady’s car as she was on her way back from her twin sister’s funeral.
Both boys were shook up a bit and understandably so, but besides a few cuts and scrapes and bruises, neither thought the other was all that badly off and they even got to laughing about it, despite being shook up as well as a pitcher of fresh lemonade. At least, until Johnny’s friend went to push the accelerator and realized his legs weren’t moving. So Johnny tried and found he was pretty un-moving as well.
The fire department and the police had all been alerted by then, and the boys were just there, waiting when the sires came because there was no way they’d be able to walk if they couldn’t even drive.
A friendly looking policeman with a nose that was too big for his skinny face poked his head in and asked if either one of ’em had family they wanted called. Johnny’s friend said yes and gave numbers. So Johnny did likewise and the phone calls were made though Johnny was told that the line to his house was busy still and was there another number? But no, there wasn’t so on the way to the hospital Johnny stared at the ceiling, wondering exactly who his Mommy or Daddy had been talking to and why.
Johnny’s friends’ parents met them at the hospital but the calls still weren’t getting through to Johnny’s house, so he sat on the other side of the room, trying to ignore the happy/worried sounds on the opposite side of the thin white curtain the hospital staff had put up in the name of privacy.
An hour later when Johnny’s friend was moved to another wing in the hospital, Johnny’s parents finally showed up and they had as joy filled a reunion as could possibly be enjoyed under such circumstances, beginning of course with the news that Johnny’s mother had successfully withdrawn him from college and now he could live at home again and do chores so that the college money could go to better use, paying off medical bills.
Johnny wanted to know who else in the family had gotten hurt, since the money was pulled before he’d even managed to get a call to his parents about the accident.
Daddy and Mommy exchanged guilty looks.
Well… It’s odd, isn’t it? Chores…
[Editor’s note: you apparently hold the world’s typing record of 1379 WPM.)
There are always chores to do. But when you think o f it the word chores has many negative connotations to it. And if you really think about it chores are just the normal stuff of life. Nothing really odious or onerous just the daily tasks that everything has to do
I already wrote about Chores, I don’t really like chores. I feel like Cinderella when I do chores; I don’t like to be Cinderella, I wish I was the Fairy God Mother who could make Cinderella not a chore-do-er. You know?
The laundry, warm, soft, smelling of the dryer still. I burrow deep under the shirts and pants and socks and napkins, savoring the vestiges of heat like a cat in a patch of sun. I should be folding, but this is too safe, too cozy. for now, I’ll just lie still and compare my situation to that of an infant in the womb.
They’re such a necessary evil…I would much prefer not to do them most days. But then, when I am away from home and don’t have the chores that structure my home time, I feel lost and lethargic, and it is a relief to get back to responsibility.
that’s all chores are really – responsibility of a smaller sort. It’s nice to have them sometimes, when you want to remember that you aren’t just a bum.
pain in the arse that have to be done in evey home… most often used as a punishment by parent for kids who misbehave.
I hate to waste my time. But chores? Are they a waste of time? Think of a clean bathroom…hmmm. Absolutely not! I love chores.
Chores drive me insane! They make me work! However they prepare us for the real world, and they give us discipline, as much as I hate chores, I do not mind doing them and preparing myself for the life ahead of me. They scream my name when they need to be done, and they don’t stop shouting until completed
the chores of life are not ones that we are told to do, it’s the ones that we make ourselves do because we know that they need to be done. We may not like them, but we do them anyway because if we don’t do it, who will? Someone? Or no one. We don’t know so we do it to make sure it gets done.
Chores were the bane of my existence, the one thing that would put me to sleep right away. Now? I love them. A clean house, with clean things in it, means a clean mind. I like to relax, meditate, and think about how nice it is to have clean things.
washing dishes, doing laundry, sweeping floor, mom, aunt, cleaning bathroom, mopping floor, vacuuming the floor, going grocery shopping, mom, aunt, cousin,
CRaZy whore
Hookers
Open legs
Racist bitch
Every day sex
Slut
chores are the worst thing I would have to do on a daily basis. although I wish I was a stay at home mom rather than working all the time. Chores may get annoying but they’re not as stressful as working in this office. omg chores would be the bomb diggity. yay for chores. chores arent so bad afterall
The line grew heavier and heavier carrying the weight of clean laundry; like a sad line of music that would dip down in the middle before rising up again into some sort of resolution.
oh my goodness. i have been gone away from the house for five days. my son and i went to spend the time with my bestie and her kids. good times.. from saturday the 3rd through yesterday. i realized when i got home that my chores had been neglected. dishes, laundry, grocery shopping, and the like. boooooo!
Can you teach yourself responsibilty? well of course, there is only so much your parents can teach throughout the years by example. Now its time for th real deal, time to do some chores. Responsibilty at its finest.
These are things that every kid dreads. A parent calls for their kid and the first that comes to mind in the child is “oh I hope that it’s not chores, they’re the worst.” The parent obviously needs the kid to do chores and makes the kids under any circumstances necessary.
They are gay.
Hard work. Repetitive but rewarding. Nothing better than chores that are DONE. Let me know when.
I dont have any chores. But my friend Casey does. She has to clean her entire house. Allllll the time. I rarely do anything. I vacuum occasionally. And my other friend Lucy has to vacuum everyday. It’s crazy. It’s unneccessay. Thats it.
it helps you lhow to be responsible for when you get out in the realworld.
not my favorite thing about still living at home with parents, but not my least favorite thing. i.dislike.dishes. gross=p
Something that make our hands more than art. The kind of work my grandfather taught my mother to do. The kind of work that hasn’t existed since before I was born. Bringing in milk fresh from the cow; picking the right eggs. Loving them.
i am a sixteen year old that doesn’t want to do chores i am an eigth grader who has too much homework because you sent me to a private school to do your dishes, mom! i am nineteen years old and I only live at home because it is free and i’m getting an education (meaning that I’m up every night smoking bowls and philosophizing with dumb blonde chicks that don’t know how great life is when you don’t see it as a chore. life is a gift, like a booty call or a stripper giving you her number.
doing the dishes suck, i hate prune-y hands. i dont mind doing thr laundry though because i need clean clothes. vaccuuming isnt bad either. i like lysol disinfectant wipes too
suck. i hate them i get them everyday. welll, maybe there not that bad. not as bad as they could be. i dislike doing the dishes. dirty gross ugh=[ noooo. i also don’t enjoy vacuming.
I hate chores. Sure, they’re important and they get things done and I’m supposed help out around the house, but I can’t exactly help being irritated whenever I’m asked to do something trivial and annoying like emptying the dishwasher or walking the dog. I’d rather just sit on my butt.
I was never forced to do chores as a child; my cousins, on the other hand, were used as slaves in their home. My Aunt wasted her days away, allowing her children to care solely for the house.
chores kinda suck…they keep you busy though. they keep you in a routeen form day to day. and the also keep teach kids resposibility.
I’m home from college and the summer is hot. As my skin tans I am nagged by the inconveniences of living back at home with my parents. Chores. Helping around the house. I’m finally old enough to appreciate the support and love that my parents have given me and want to return the favor. Yet it is still hard to transition to the free life I have at school and the restrictions and obligations I have at home.
Chores.
When does the switch from our childhood chores to our adult life of perpetual 9-5 chores truly occur?
i have a lot of them, including mowing the lawn, taking care of the daog, cooking, cleaning, laundry and dishes, i understand having them but they’re a pain and I can deal without them
so i have time left over so ill say: it’s a noun :)
Chores help to build character. Too many people have too little to do and though they don’t know it need chores to help them grow.