When Does Mess Equal Marvel?

When there's a toddler in the equation, that's when.

My two year old (you all know him as Trouble) was playing quietly by himself the other day. Yes, I know, that's the first sign that Trouble is brewing. Nonetheless, I ignored the warning signs because I was especially busy at that particular moment. Besides, his older brother was with him, and it was only for a minute or two, so how bad could it be?

Turns out that Trouble was investigating the stand-up shower stall. This shower stall is in the ensuite bathroom in my bedroom - mere feet from where I was sitting at the moment. So he was being especially quiet for me not to hear what he was up to. I was soon smelling a lovely scent emanating from the bathroom. I'm not being sarcastic here, it really did smell nice. I couldn't quite place the scent for a moment or two ... and then it hit me.

Shampoo. My shampoo. Oh, dear. Now what?

Upon investigating, I find Trouble standing barefoot (thankfully) in the shower stall in a large puddle of my best "for colour-treated hair" shampoo. Sigh! Why couldn't he use hubby's bargain brand? I pull Trouble out of the shower and start wiping him down. A few minutes later I returned to the shower to deal with the spilled shampoo.

But Lo! And Behold! When I rinsed away that slimy goo, the shower stall beneath it was sparkling clean! Cleaner than any other commercial, bathroom-specific cleaner has been able to make it. And I didn't even have to scrub! This is quite the feat, since hubby dearest is a machinist by trade and a week-end warrior to boot, which means my shower is regularly subjected to varying sorts of grease and grime and paintball scum.

So ... um ... thanks, Trouble, for spilling my shampoo all over the shower stall and then smooshing it around with your toes (there's one of the strangest sentences I've ever uttered, let alone put down in writing). I wonder, if I get him to do that once a week, would it qualify as "child labour"?