Lounging on a comfortable deck chair is no place to be when you remember that the trash needs to go out. That is, unless you muse out loud to yourself, “I wonder if Ethan is old enough to take out the trash.” Only the garbage was time sensitive; the recycling truck wouldn’t come until after lunch. Ambiguity, however, can be your friend, especially when a five year old gets inspired. After five minutes or so Beth went to inspect. (No, I didn’t stay lounging; Eliana wanted me to push her on the swing.) Beth’s report was of a perfect job, worthy of continued enjoyment of the weekly privilege for at least a dozen years.