On returning from a three day road trip, the children were instructed to bring their dirty clothing to the laundry room. They had been swimming in a hotel pool, and the bathing suits, still wet, had been packed up amongst the dirty clothes. Yuck.
Fritz didn’t get the memo and unpacked his dirty things into the hamper in his bedroom. I asked him to bring it down, but he moaned about the trip up the stairs again. I let the matter drop.
Hours later, it was bedtime. Fritz reappeared downstairs after the goodnights.
“Mom, where’s that spray stuff? My room smells.”
I gave him the Febreze and suggested he bring his dirty laundry down. But what do I know?