I have noticed that one thing that instantly puts me in a foul mood these days — faster than an eagle pounces on its prey — is having to tidy up my children’s toys.

It typically begins with either the son or the daughter asking for a toy to be found. Cue for my expression to turn sullen as I battle the multiple hills of assorted toys, trying desperately to find the elusive item. I try my utmost to put everything back in their rightful place, but honestly, it is not easy. My mind bristles at the thought of such a low-value task. I would rather teach my son some English vocab or Chinese idioms.

But I bite my lip as well as the figurative bullet. Because if I don’t tidy up their playroom, who will? (Technically, I can train the kids to do this but it requires me seizing the opportunity when the timing is right.) Until then, I suffer alone, following a lonely and solitary routine of organising my kids’ toys. I pray fervently to the Universe to have some mercy on me next weekend.