I've never had to make my own bed!!! (My parents didn't care if it was made or not)

I could never really appreciate Katharine Graham, accomplishments and all, after reading in her autobiography that when she went to college she didn't wash her clothes for the first semester (cashmere sweaters were the item described I think), not because she didn't know how to wash them, but because she didn't realize that at home they had been taken away by the maid and washed and returned to her drawers. Not knowing how to wash sweaters is one level of privilege, but not *noticing* that someone is washing your clothes for you is a whole 'nother level of privilege. And I just couldn't get over it.

yeah, I don't care about a made bed unless a guest is coming over.

I wonder how much an au pair costs, anyway. I don't have kids, but I do have cats, and lots of small jobs around the house....

I don't care about a made bed unless a guest is coming over.

It cracks S. up that I always want to make the bed for parties. "But the door will be closed the entire time." "But someone always gets lost and opens the wrong door on the way to the bathroom!"

I find it interesting in how "au pair" is described these days. When I was in my teens (OK, a long time ago) au pairs were European girls who came to the U.S. for a summer and were "mother's helpers" - they'd provide back-up child care, a little light housework; they were here to improve their English, earn a little money, see a little of the world. Now au pair seems to mean nanny/housekeeper and it's a full-time, long term job.

Someone chided me today for expecting mac to get himself ready in the mornings (dress, school bag, brush teeth).

I'm confused by the chiding. Um, I'm guessing it's packing his own backpack? Because surely a 7 year old should be expected to dress himself and brush his own teeth, right?

If I remember correctly, by the age of seven, most kids will protest violently at the idea of having their mother dress them.

My dad had me dressing myself fairly early. He'd put out my clothes and tell me, "Now I'm going to help you get dressed, so don't put on that shirt while I'm gone."

And when he'd come back, I'd be giggling with the shirt on. Then it was, "Ok, I'm going to go make the toast, but don't you have those short on!"

And so on.

He also made putting on my seatbelt in the car into a game. To this day, if I yank on my seatbelt first, I yell "SEATBELT!" and feel like I've won something.

I expect my not-quite five-year-old to dress herself. And to brush her own teeth, although I do supervise sometimes to make sure she's doing it well.