My kids are basically good kids. We have no major behavioral issues. We have no pathological lying, no stealing, no tantrums. We are blessed not to have anger issues. We have four children who truly get along and enjoy each other's company.
So why, for the love of little green apples. would something as simple as cleaning a room cause so much strife and anguish.
Sure, the twins haven't actually hung up clean clothes for the last week. Yes, it sits in a corner of the closet, next to a Santa hat and a lone shin guard. Sure, Conner stacks all of his clothes on the lower hang bar and if there is no more room for more, he simply throws it over the bar. Of course his toy box is empty but there is a stack of toys on top of it.
Yes, my boys are a bit of slobs. I think that is some what expected. Boys don't really care what they look like. I do have one son with a love of clip on ties. And boy, will he wear them with anything! But no one really expects boys to be neat freaks. It is well documented that (with a few exceptions) most males of the species aren't fully house trained until marriage.
So this brings us to the un-named member of this blog. That would be my daughter, also known as Miss Chif. When she comes down the stairs, she is in matching clothes, accessorized to within an inch.
She has a stable of hats, belts, earrings and other items that match and highlight her outfits, hair and eyes.
So imagine my complete shock when I went into her room to drop off towels. The bed was tossed, there were at least seven outfits on the floor (am I to guess rejects?), there was dirty laundry under the bed, a half eaten cookie and shoes. Dear Lord, there were shoes everywhere!
How does she come out of that room looking so good? Haz Mat should be called in before the whole room reaches critical mass and goes super nova!
So I gingerly put the towels in her bathroom (another frightening zone) and tip toed around her room. I peaked into her closet. I am sorry to say that I will likely need therapy for post traumatic stress.
I gathered all, and I mean all of her discarded clothes and made a giant pile on her bed. I disposed of the Valentines candy (note, it is in March now).
Then I left a supply of laundry baskets, trash bags and bathroom cleaners and I walked out.
I do believe we have reached the point where I am not needed to step in and do the work. We are beyond the point where I am needed to sit and point out one item after another that needs put away.
Caitlyn came how to my wrath. I explained the mess, my disappointment and then I offered her the final straw.
"If you fail to keep your room and clothing neat, there will be no spring clothes. No summer clothes. You will spend summer in cut off jeans and boy t-shirts."
She turned green. Tears welled into her eyes. She stammered several excuses that bounced off my new armor and fell away. I pointed to the mountain of clothes and walked out of the room.
I went downstairs to fold more laundry. I could here sniffling, crying and a frustrated monologue. I felt a great deal of satisfaction. I had pierced the tween facade of maturity, I had proven that I could stick by a plan and mean it.
I folded the laundry and then pulled out a sale catalog from Landsend. Man, they have the cutest girl summer clothes.
And how was your day?
