Cleaning with Noah: A Tragicomedy

Shane and I are always trying to get Noah to help with chores. His three sisters do their part, emptying the dishwasher, vacuuming, cleaning bathrooms, you name it. Noah, however, is another story. Sometimes it is pure stubbornness. As I have mentioned before, his stubborn streak could outlast a statue. Other times, it is his version of “helping,” which usually involves doing something in a way that makes no sense to anyone but him. (Pinesol in the washing machine still haunts me.)

This time, though, I thought we were making progress. I was sweeping the main floor, and the handheld vacuum was sitting nearby. Noah picked it up and started vacuuming the piles of dirt I had just swept. Perfect, I thought. We have found his chore. I sweep, he vacuums. We made quite the team for about ten minutes. I even showed him how to empty the vacuum, and I was feeling proud—finally, something Noah would actually do.

Five minutes later, I heard the vacuum again. My mother instincts kicked in. Uh-oh. What now?

Well, it turns out Noah had discovered how satisfying it was to vacuum up dirt. So naturally, he decided to expand his cleaning portfolio. By the time I reached him, he had vacuumed Ozzy’s dog food, his sisters’ hair bands, and a few of Ilyia’s clothes. The boy was on a roll.

He knows better, but I swear he does it just to test my patience, and to see how many shades of red his mother’s face can turn.

So here I am, once again outsmarted by a kid with Down Syndrome and a handheld vacuum. Any ideas on how to redirect this kind of “helpfulness”? Or should I just start hiding all the appliances?

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