I used to enjoying cleaning my parents’ house for pocket money as a teenager. Money meant red skins, CDs and cigarettes (sorry mum). But now I have to do it for free, ok I do love a clean house and yes the mould and fungi won’t kill us if I kill it first, but that’s just not enough – I still hate it. I feel like I’m wasting my time. Damn baby and husband are just going to mess the place up again. Life is too short for cleaning dishes, scrubbing toilets and hanging out washing on the line. I’d much rather spend my Sundays reading. Maybe one day I’ll be rich enough to hire a cleaner. That’s the dream. For the time being I am slowly training my son to help me; he will pick up and put away his toys, he will pick up his dad’s dirty clothes and put them in the washing basket, he will pick up his dads shoes and put them back in the wardrobe. If you give him a cloth he’ll wipe over table tops and bench tops, not that he can apply enough pressure to actually do much and he has very short arms, but he seems to enjoy it (and currently I only have to pay him in hugs).