This afternoon, the children were all doing their daily household duties. I hope you had a napkin handy to wipe the pop that just came spewing out of your nose. And if it didn't, it should have. Because my children doing their "daily household duties" is a joke these days.
A real funny joke.
Actually more like a hysterical joke.
Anyway, that's beside the point. As Emily was instructed to go up and tidy her room a bit (there were only groovy girls out, it's not like it was any huge job), she groaned as though I had just asked her to complete the inconceivable task of hugging her sister and holding her hand as they gingerly trot off to the swing set to play together.
God, even I'm not THAT mean. Close. But not quite.
So, her instruction was to go upstairs and pick up the 6 groovy girls that were on her floor, put them in the cute little pink cube which is also sitting right there within arms reach of every single stinkin' doll, and I get ... "Why can't Drew do it?"
"Emily, they are not Drew's dolls. Not his mess. Not his responsibility. Now go do it."
Emily placed a hand on each hip, as she moved all of her weight to her right foot, "Well .... Ruby helps Max clean his room!"
And this is where, Drew, the child who I swear NEVER listens to anything anyone says, especially when it has anything to do with cleaning up, interrupts with ... "Max & Ruby is a TV show. They have to <use fingers as quotes> ACT </use fingers as quotes> as if they actually like each other and want to help each other out. It's FICTION."
Poor Emily ... she lost that argument, didn't she?
Oh well, at least she tried. I'm sure by the time she gets married, I'll have taught her the perfection of getting things done without actually having to do them.
