I hate cleaning.
I especially hate cleaning up the same mess day after day.
And more than that, I hate nagging my kids to clean.
Yet it seems to be part and parcel of parenting.
[This would not be a good time to suggest a reward system, BTW.]
So I tell Poppyseed over and over again that cleaning her room includes picking up and putting away all of the little piddly chazerai that seems to congregate on her floor.
I tell her that whatever doesn’t get picked up and put away is in real and present danger of being tossed.
I do not make idle threats.
Am I the only one who takes special delight in the clickedty-clack sounds made by the Polly Pocket shoes, et al. as they get sucked up by the vacuum?