slave driver

My children have entered a new stage. This one I'm doing cartwheels about. Chores. They've seriously been asking me when they get to do their chores. Oh, heaven for me. Don't even tell me that this stage doesn't last. I don't want to know. Right now I have three, well two at least, little munchkins who want to wipe down the mirrors that they smudged up, vaccum the crumbs they spilled off the floor, and help me fold and put away their clothes. Kids and no clean up. Can life get better? I submit that it cannot.

Have a look at my mini sweat-shop.

I'm such a slave driver.