Arrive home after much drinking and eating and socialising and having a good time.
Discover that Mokey Boy had not stacked the dishwasher as he’d been instsructed prior to us leaving, and communicated instruction again.
He attempted the “but it’s past my bedtime” thing. I’m onto him, however, and explain the sensibility of doing it when we first ask, preferably tantrumless, so that he does not miss out on things like playing … or going to bed.
Typically, he’s rambling away, albeit nicely and jokingly and we’re chatting amicably when I hear a crash and turn to find MUG lying on the floor with