Sacha is famous for cross-pollination of toys; all day long he brings upstairs toys down, and downstairs toys up, where they all have a meet-up on the first floor. Today this was driving me especially insane, so I decided, on a whim--I can do that, because I'm the MOM--that it was time for the kids to clean up the playroom. I myself avoid this odious chore at all costs, because a) it sucks; b) the kids (well, mostly Sacha) make the mess; and c) if I can't make my kids do jobs that I don't want to do, then why the hell did I have them?
So when I said it was time to clean the playroom, Sarah began her pursuit of the perfect flimsy excuse.
This child, who must be nagged to do her Hebrew school homework, developed a sudden urge to do it right now. Surely it could wait a few minutes, I told her, seeing as it's not due until next Wednesday? Her desire to do this homework was so strong that she brought it downstairs with her, trying to work on it while cleaning. This didn't fly with Gabriel, who knows a thing or two about procrastinating. I told Sarah to put it down and concentrate on cleaning, reminding her that the sooner she was done, the sooner she could get to said homework. At this point her zeal to complete the task became so great that she developed an occupation injury, hurting her shoulder on the craft table.
Now the playroom is clean. Since coming upstairs, Sarah hasn't mentioned her Hebrew homework.