"Cohen, pick up your blanket and put it in the laundry room please."
"What blanket?" he asks.
"That blanket, right there," I say, pointing to the blue mass covering most of my kitchen floor.
"Where?" he asks, getting upset.
"Cohen, seriously, right there."
"Oooooh." He picks it up, stares at me blankly.
"Now take it to the laundry room," I say patiently.
"The laundry room."
"The one downstairs?"
Ugh, because we have more than one.
Now, a conversation with Kembry:
"Kembry, go downstairs into the laundry room, into your hamper, and get your shoes."
(Please don't ask why her shoes were there in the first place.)
Two minutes later, she has her shoes, on her feet.
Why can't boys be more like girls? I mean really.