I hate cleaning. It’s not productive. It’s not creative. It’s not engaging. It’s boring, tedious work. It is necessary, though, so I end up doing a lot of it. But I try to minimize the amount. My family has no such compunction. My son scatters his toys all over the floor and then runs off to get more. My daughter dumps her school work all over the table and leaves her crafts arrayed in various states of completion. I’m convinced my wife, when she cooks, competes to show how many unique pans and plates and utensils she can use for a single dish. She’s gotten really good at it. Maybe they secretly like to clean and are letting it build up for extra fun those few times (usually right before the cleaners come) when we all pick up the house. Maybe they just enjoy watching me do it.