Matthew took 3 hours to clean his room. And by clean his room I mean, complain bitterly in between being sent out to put things away -- so Rachel could throw one of his treasured scraps of paper away without him being the wiser. (And by scraps I mean literally scraps: shreds of ripped-up paper. Matthew is a pack rat.) Rachel got about half the toys out, too.
And yet Matthew asked me tonight if he can do extra chores "to get dollars" so he can buy stuff: "if you buy lots of stuff at school you can choose what you get." (Somebody needs to be deprogrammed from the fund raising brain washing.) The obvious reply was, "you couldn't even clean your room without complaining, and you want me to pay you to do chores?" But I was in Burned Out End of the Day Mode so my tired brain resorted to the default defense: "I'll talk it over with Mommy."
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