If your childhood was like mine, then perhaps Saturday mornings began with a mad dash of my parents corralling my siblings and I into cleaning the house despite our intentions to do anything else. My younger brother could often be found hiding in the car in the garage whereas my method was to hide in the laundry room which conveniently doubled as a food pantry. Eventually, born of our parents mounting frustrations and fearing their increasingly exasperated tones, the work would get done. Then, we would generally scatter about, fearful that some missed chore might get noticed and addressed. The family would go their separate ways until the memory of the ordeal was forgotten or night fell.