Genevieve's room

Today we did nothing. The girls built forts out of blankets and chairs and spent most of the day in them. The weather outside is frightful, but the central heating is delightful.

Last night I sent Genevieve into her room to clean it up. Imogen reported a few minutes later. "Genevieve isn't cleaning her room."

"Oh?" I said. "Go pick up five things in Genevieve's room."

"Why?" she said.

"Because you're just so interested in it," I said. So she left.

Several minutes later, Genevieve appeared and said in her best tragic shaky-whiny-pathetic voice, "Imogen didn't put those things away. She just threw them all in a basket."

"How many things have you picked up?" I asked.

Long pause. "Zero," she whispered. Seriously? She's going to complain that someone else isn't cleaning up her mess adequately?

"Go clean your room," I said. She ran from the room, screaming over her shoulder, "I'm going to sit in there and DO NOTHING!"

"That'll show me!" I called after her.

When they were little, like one year old, I used to have them help me pick up their toys and put them in the toy box. It's not like this whole pick-up-your-own-mess concept is new to them. Hasn't sunk in yet though.