Cleaning the house sucks. Point. Blank. Period. But add a child into the mix. A three-year-old boy to be exact. Holy guacamole! Cleaning the house turns into a NIGHTMARE of epic proportions.

Case in point: While on my hands and knees scrubbing the floor (worst job ever), Caleb wonders into the kitchen, walking on said floor.
"Don't walk in here! I am cleaning it. Remember?"
"Oh yeah..." He walks away. Then, STOMP STOMP STOMP.
"Get off the kitchen floor!"
Sulk...sulk...sulk....
Scrub....scrub...scrub....
STOMP STOMP STOMP squeeeeeeeeeeeeek.
"GET OUT OF HERE!"
"Soooorrrrryyyyy Mooooooommmmmyyyyyyyyyyy."
He peers at my from his playroom, JUST far enough away so I wouldn't yell at him again. "Why are you cleaning?"
"Because the floor is dirty."
"Why is it dirty?"
I don't know if you have ever had questions that just needn't be answered asked over and over and over again at the WORST time, but it's slightly infuriating.
"WHY is it dirty? Because ::enter dramatically expressed profanities here::" Ok, so that was what went through my head. I do have some restraint.

Later, we moved upstairs. He did not want to stay in his playroom because he wanted to be with me. Sweet, right? WELL. As I am scrubbing the tub, I have my back to the door but FEEL his presence. Sure enough, he is right behind me with a turtle that needs a bath right now! After I refuse that request, however persistent he was on the turtle's dirtiness, he disappeared for a while. That is, until I am fully involved in cleaning the toilet. I feel that presence again. There he is. "Whatcha' doing?"
"Cleaning the toilet."
He leans in the get a closer look. "Why?"
"Because you need to learn that ALL pee needs to go in the potty ALL of the time, and then I wouldn't have to do this everyday, multiple times a day."
"Oh. Maybe Saturday."

Saturday.... Is that a metaphor for, "Sorry, Ma. But get used to it. This is your life! ::evil laugh::" I think so.