Kenzo and Osamu go through phases with their housework. Some weeks they’re all in, checking things off and adding stickers to their sheets like a well-oiled machine. Other times, they have zero inclination to even clear their dishes. Right now, we’re in a valley. Mornings start with sleepy protests about bed-making, and evenings bring deep sighs when it’s time to set the table. However, we are starting to hike up out of this particular valley.
Eri and I decided a while ago that we weren’t going to do the automatic allowance thing. No pass go, no collect 200 yen just for existing. We believe that, as quickly as possible, they have to gain a deep and profound understanding that money isn’t something that just appears; it comes from effort and contribution. So we devised a system: 100 yen for every 14 full sets of chores. That’s four a day, two in the morning, two at night. They don't have to all be done every day, but they don't get their payday until the sticker sheet is filled up.
For an eight-year-old and a six-year-old, that seems fair to me. Especially when you factor in the tooth fairy, who also pays out at 100 yen per tooth, and the occasional envelope of cash from relatives on birthdays or New Year’s. Someday, they’ll need a raise. The cost of living is bound to go up, even for kids. But for now, that’s the setup.
Last night at dinner, I brought it up again. Not in a nagging way, just a casual reminder between bites of rice and miso soup. They nodded, kept eating. I didn’t push it. The rhythm of the meal took over, chopsticks tapping against bowls, the quiet hum of thought in between.
That’s my favorite part of dinner. The pauses. The space where they chew and think. They might be working through the fairness of the 100 yen system. Or maybe they’re just thinking about how good the grilled fish tastes. Either way, I let the moments carry us along, like a song you don’t need to sing along to but still feel in your bones.
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