Guess What?

A few weeks ago, Jane and I were cleaning her room, which had reached a truly horrifying state of chaos.  Or, more accurately, I was cleaning her room.  She was reading books and, in a weak imitation of "helping" me, would occasionally move a toy or a piece of clothing from one place to another.  I eventually insisted that she stop reading and and actually clean.

Instead, she left the room.  After about five minutes, she returned, holding one of her "fancy" notecards.  They look like this:

She silently handed me the card.  I opened it and read the following:

 

 Um, right.  That's why it's called cleaning.