Children love to jump in me, much to parent's dismay. Muddy tracks through out The House, mops Prepare to Clean the floor In every Way Big wet blobs

I start as stone beneath the ground, yet end up flat and thin. A roof may wear me overhead, or chalk may mark my skin.

To mail a letter to a friend, Label, stamp, lick and send. They used to use me all the time, But now it seems I'm past my prime.

I slide over snow but I have no wheels. You can sit on me and ride down a hill. What am I?

I’m a soft little sheet on a kitchen roll, I chase after puddles and crumbs on patrol. I’m made to help, then disappear, A tiny hero we keep near. What am I?