Stirred by his example, I finally reorganized the linen closet, which was about to explode (linen closets, at least in my house, are utilized mostly by people who rummage without respect to order, and leave them in worse shape than when they found them. I do not except myself in this). Then I tidied up the bathroom cabinet, in which it was impossible to find anything one really needed. At the end of this process Spouse had finished tearing out all the remaining insulation over that closet, and I was enlisted to help clear out the vast quantity of debris (wet-mouse-smelling insulation, flakes of paint, chunks of plaster and lathe). Then we sprayed the closet with Lysol, in the hopes of laying the last of the mold to rest, and set a heater in there to warm up the last of the damp plaster. Then YG and I went to work, reinstaling all the belongings that had been removed when she fled the room the other night.
Those who have small children will perhaps recognize this sentiment: if I'd done it myself I'd have been half as tired. Getting an almost nine-year-old who is not interested in cleaning her room to clean her room is Augean Stables-calibre work. In the end, however, she was awed by how good things look. It will last a week, of course, but at least it's done, and it no longer smells like a large, wet hound in there.
Sarcasm Girl spent the day up in her aerie, working on a school project and being fourteen, which seems to take up an inordinate amount of energy. I feel like I've been beaten all over with small sticks, but I probably haven't.