I woke up this morning to Emma methodically removing things from my bedside table, one at a time, and laying them on my stomach. I asked her what she was doing, and she said she was cleaning. As she wiped down my table, Chris's table, and our full-length mirror with baby wipes, she explained to me that cleaning was her special invention. The doctor told her to find a special invention and then he gave her a shot, and the shot made her want to clean and so that is her invention now.
You can imagine my embarrassment at my 4-year-old's efforts to tackle the chaotic mixture of strewn clothes and dustballs that pervade our bedroom. Not to mention what it says about my housekeeping skills that my daughter views cleaning as an "invention." Our apartment certainly isn't a pigsty, but more often than not it isn't what you would call "orderly" or "tidy" or, um, "presentable" either.
I asked Emma if the doctor could give me a shot that would make me want to clean too, and she said sure...but I had to pay him 27 and 40 hundred dollars and ask for a Spongebob band aid or it won't work.
Needless to say, I'm calling the doctor first thing tomorrow.
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