If I ever want to get worked up into a frenzy, really all I need to do is clean my kids' room. Such a thing usually starts with me cheerfully entering said room with the intention to neaten up by myself.
Two apples cores, 16 lidless markers, and four piles of dirty underwear later, I'm cursing and screeching at my kids to come clean the room their own damn selves. I usually punish Sam by making him crawl under the bed to bring out everything that has fallen under it.
My other punishment is that if I find something that pisses me off, then I get rid of it promptly.
Those lamps that my children painted and decorated with their own tiny hands? Hate 'em. They're gone.
Homemade bead necklaces and bracelets? I'm sure they'll make me 15 of them tomorrow. I'll get rid of these.
The Thomas alarm clock with one leg? Let it bug someone else.
Anything in their room that is smaller than a book? It's going to the playroom, and if it causes trouble there, it's going to go "live in a farm upstate."
Total items for today (yesterday really): 16