The laundry woman is washing, I’m rinsing, the children are running around or playing in the courtyard, but one of them is standing next to my thigh, examining with clever eyes how the adults (us) are cleaning the clothes. My companion is singing away next to me, sometimes awarding with a few good words the rejoicing little ones dashing in with their creative games... (yarn tied onto a stick, pebbles hidden in a matchbox, ball packed into a plastic bag), or educating them when one of them rushes in blabbing, complaining, crying. She merely says one or two wise words (like my old Gran in my childhood), and the child calms down, starting to play again. We sometimes laugh at them, and very frequently, I smile at our little buddy who has already fished out all the tricks of washing, already knowing when it’s time for the part with the bucket full of clean laundry heading towards the drying line. Then he disappears, returning with clips lined up in order (selected according to colors), imitating the wringing of water, handing them to me, since he can’t reach the line yet, but still would like to help, to be with me. And during this period, the others forget about their minute fights, their singing and dancing, and they are coming, too, I already have six tiny black heads peeping into the bucket, every hand holding a piece of clothing, independently of their age (from one and a half year old to four-year-old), and they are just wringing, rushing to me, standing in line to reach me the clothes, excitedly smiling round and round during all this. This is how housework turns into a game.