The story of the gross-ness of boys always starts with infancy. No mother can forget the blowouts, the projectile vomitting, and the sheer pleasure they seem to derive in a big juicy burp. It graduates to self feeding, dipping peanut butter bread in water, and eating sand. Soon there are messes everywhere and you can only hope that none of the messes are of organic compounds, all hail plastic with it’s just-wipe-clean sanitation.
You shouldn’t be surprised to know my boys aren’t big on cleaning. They never do it without several promptings and never see the job to completion.
It shouldn’t surprise me so much that I have finally found a household chore they not only enjoy doing, but they fight over who gets to do it. It is, of course, the grossest chore of all. My boys, it turns out, love to scrub toilets.