The preschool Hazel

Anyone who has met my mother knows that she is one of the cleanest people alive. Her house is always immaculate. My father and I always joke that dirt and dust are actually afraid to come into the house.

Anyone who knows me knows that I DEFINITELY did not inherit that trait. I found out today why - apparently it skips a generation.

Greyson and I were in the living room playing bulldozers (poor Guinness was the pile of dirt we were moving - he is such patient dog) when Quinn came storming in to announce in a very accusatory tone that I had dog hair under my bed. She then announced that she was going to clean it. Off she toddled into the pantry to get the broom and dustpan. After 5 minutes of silence I went to find her and she was on her stomach, almost all the way under my bed brushing out the dog hair. By the time I had gotten my camera she had finished under the bed and had moved to my bedside table.


She then announced that she needed to clean upstairs too and spent a good 20 minutes searching for dog hair which went into her dustpan and very tidily ended up in our trash can. Frankly our bedroom hasn't been that clean in months. Thanks Quinn.