I've been asking The Brat to do her laundry for the last couple of days. She is sooo slooowww.
Day One: She pretends like she didn't hear me say: Hey, your laundry basket is ridiculous. It's time to do your laundry.
Day Two: She sorts her clothes in her room.
Day Three: She's starts washing. Mostly I think it's because she's run out of jeans.
Day Four/Five: She's been working on a project and not getting home until after 9pm.
Me: Hey Umm, if you're not going to wash these clothes, put them back in your laundry basket. They just can't be on the floor.
Her: Okay. See Day One.
I was exhausted. I was supposed to go out, but I didn't because I was so tired I could barely keep my eyes open. I fell asleep in my den watching the CSI Marathon.
The Brat woke me around 1AM to tell me to go to bed. I go to my room and change into my jammies. And because I have the bladder of a pea, I decide potty, then bed. And on my way to the bathroom, I notice that her clothes are STILL IN THE FLOOR.
Do I get mad, and go off on her? Nope. Because, I have a better idea.
She's in the bathroom... I can hear her washing her hands, so I know I won't have to wait long.
I stand RIGHT IN FRONT OF THE DOOR. I wait for her to crack open the door and say, Didn't I tell you to pick up those clothes?
I wasn't sure she heard me over her screaming though.
But when I came out of the bathroom (where I was trying to laugh quietly because her room is right next to the bathroom), her clothes were in a basket*.
*What? I'm the only person who gets a kick out of scaring a couple of years off of my kid's life? And, there was a bonus: She did what I told her to do. FINALLY. So, I win.