Hugh picked up the basket of clean laundry and dumped it all over the floor, giggling as he threw clothes across the room.

“Time to help me pick up the clothes,” I said. “Look, it’s fun! Throw the clothes into the basket. Score!”

“No,” he said.

“I need you to help me, Hugh, since you threw these on the floor.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to.”

“I want you to do it by IT-self.”

“Mama doesn’t want to do by IT-self. Mama wants Hugh to help.”

A long pause, a stubborn stare.

“Okay then, I’m counting to three, and if you don’t start helping, then you’re going to sit in your crib while Mama picks up. One…two…”

Hugh leaned over and picked up a pair of socks – using his TEETH – and continued to drop items in the basket one by one using this method until everything was put away.

Not sure who made the score on that one, but he was grinning at the end.

My way or the highway.

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