We had a house guest arrive on Monday. So over the weekend we needed to do just a tad bit of cleaning. Like de-scuzing the guest bathroom. Vacuuming up all the dog hair. Sweeping the hardwood floors so one can go barefoot without getting a bunch of half eaten goldfish stuck to one’s foot. Just basic stuff.
I was not looking forward to hours of cleaning. Then it hit us. It hit us like exorcist baby spit up* — the kind that slams into the opposite wall. Only what hit us was better. Much, much better: Zoey is now 15 months. She can do things like hold her head up and walk. Welcome to our finest moment as parents: we put the kid to work.
First we had her sweep the floor. I mean, let’s be honest. Who drops the most stuff on the floor? I won’t say names but she enjoys wearing pink footy pajamas. It’s about responsibility people! You drop it, you clean it up.
Then we had her vacuum. Same principles apply as above. Who trashes the play room? It’s not me.
Next were the windows. They were suspiciously clean above a certain person’s reach and rather . . . smeary on the bottom half. Since I didn’t have to do the windows I was able to do some important work (practice Bejeweled).
Demetri had Zoey do some furniture repairs. It’s practically a requirement to be in Demetri’s family — you have to be able to build things and fix things. They made a special exception for me. But we don’t want Zoey to get kicked out or anything . . .
Next up: yard work. Zoey started with watering the lawn. After several hours, she moved on to . . .
Then, so as not to break any labor laws, we let her take a break. She had a few goldfish and some juice. We’re not completely terrible parents.