While waiting for the arrival of their friend in the morning the kids had to do usual morning routing – brushing teeth, making beds, getting dressed, tidying their rooms. The younger one returned to the living room way too fast. I looked him straight in the eye:
-Did you brush you teeth?
-Yes.
-Did you clean your room?
-Yes, mom (there was a telling pause in his answer)
I closed my eyes and in deliberately low voice proclaimed:
“I see unmade bed; I see your clothes scattered on the floor and... what is this? Something blue is on the carpet; oh, it is your guitar.”
“Mom, you are psychic,” – he whispered in awe and ran upstairs to clean his room.
