I remember being five years old and hate, hate, hating having to hang my coat up in the closet. I screamed to my mother one day that if I ever had kids of my own, after the millionth time she bothered me about hanging my coat up, that I would never ever ask my kids to clean up after themselves because it was the absolute worst and in no way fun.
I eventually came around because mom and dad were the boss of me and although I still lazily throw my clothes on the floor, more often than not I get embarrassed enough to not want to live like a slob and put them where they belong.
But my own childhood words are biting me in the butt right about now because my son also loves causing a mess. His idea of "playing" with blocks is to dump them all over the floor, kick them around for no longer than six seconds, then resume stomping around my apartment, pretending to be a T-Rex.