Sunday, March 4, 2012

Any Australian Child Labor Laws On the Books? Hope Not.

Ahhh, Saturday, the start of which holds so much promise as what seems like a limitless weekend ahead.  I live for Saturday.  Saturday is my stop-by-a-cafe-for-a-coffee day, my lift-Kenyon-over-the-waves day, my play-in-the-surf-with-Jackson-and-Alex day, and my relax-while-the-family-builds-sand-castles day.  There is no room for wind and rain on Saturday, but alas, the rain that had plagued us all week held firm, not budging during this wet, windy Saturday.

Forced to switch gears, we took care of business and did the mundane tasks of grocery shopping and laundry.  And cleaning, but folks, the cleaning that is happening 'round these parts is far from mundane.  Because let me tell you something, there is a little miracle taking place each weekend within the walls of this flat on Corrimal Street.  It all started when Sam told the boys they would be responsible for cleaning their own bathroom.  Instead of an outcry of complaints, there was....excitement.  How curious.  Now, you'd think that the novelty of donning rubber gloves and arming oneself with cleaning fluids and a sponge would lose its luster shortly after the first wipe of the sink bowl; the toilet bowl for sure.

Not so. *said in a fairy whisper so as not to jinx myself*

For some reason, the boys interpreted being responsible for cleaning their bathroom as 'cleaning both bathrooms', and Sam and I conveniently haven't found the time to correct them.  Jackson and Alex scrub these bathrooms top to bottom, and regularly call to each other to come inspect their work before showing it off to us.  "Beautiful," I say as I nod admiringly (and secretly gleefully) as they mop the floor, and tell them I'm going to need to wear sunglasses to inspect the toilet because I can see how shiny it is from all the way across the hall.

Even Kenyon got in on the action--the older boys are a little possessive about their bathroom territories, so he tackled the sliding glass doors.

Sam and I are giddy, wondering why the hell the boys enjoy these tasks.  One theory is that they are so seriously deprived of video games and other electronic toys that even the use of a simple spray bottle feels like they have their hands on advanced technology.  I would come up with another theory, but I'm too busy sitting back with my feet up and admiring my sparkly clean bathroom.  I'm going to enjoy this while it lasts...