On Cleanliness

Really, they're just confused.

My sons, I mean. They're confused about laundry baskets and what goes in them.

To them laundry baskets are multi-purpose storage units meant to house notebooks, scissors, glasses, empty bowls, trash, and my personal favorite, clean laundry.

The other morning, as I was doing the weekly overhaul of their shared room, Liam told me I sucked the fun out of the room when I came in.

I told him he was sucking the fun out of my life. In my head. Because I love my children and they bring me ultimate and supreme joy.

I had just uncovered his comic book making station, complete with two reams of paper, two staplers, all of my best markers, a hefty collection of colored pencils and contraband PERMANENT MARKERS.( I will have to do a shakedown later to find out where the indelible felt-tipped weapons of doom came from.)

 

It all started because we needed to locate Liam's glasses.

The last time they were lost I found them in their laundry basket, miraculously, just as I was dumping the load in. Now that I'm recalling the moment, though, I may have actually washed them and found them when transferring the wet stuff to the dryer.

Anyhoo, in my quest to find the missing glasses I had to go in their room. It's not like I wanted to. It was one of those situations that must be dealt with, like paying taxes, dealing with insurance companies, and going to the grocery store.

There are things in my boys' room that I've learned to live with. Exoskeletons from crickets that made an escape from one of the two frog cages. Turtle shells, rocks, sticks shaped like guns, and various bugs in various stages of decomposition all reside within the four walls of their room. I even dealt with a  superworm farm in a set of plastic drawers.

I am that mom.

 

Honestly, I've even grown to find all of that stuff really, really fascinating.

Maybe at this point you're thinking to yourself, "What did you expect lady?" because, frankly, that's what I think every now and then. 

When I endeavored to allow my children to lead of life of curiosity I was saying no to a certain level of order, neatness, and elegance. Basically, Pottery Barn is not where we're living, or how we're living. I'm good with that.

What I'm looking for is a tiny of glimmer of cleanliness, a hope that my sons will enjoy walking across a floor barren of LEGOS, dirty socks, and empty beef jerky packages some day. Someday soon, please, Lord, please.

Hopefully I'm not hindering the creative juices of the next Dav Pilkey or David Attenborough but I  feel like having a somewhat clean room is just not asking too much.

After I'd gotten the majority swept up, tidied up, buried properly and sorted into the correct drawer or basket I ask my guys if they feel better. Yes, they do, they submit but are also exhausted and need to lay in their beds to digest everything that's just occurred over the last 25 minutes.

Closing my eyes I remember being in my room, my mother or father having just swept all of my mess/worldy possessions into one pile. I loved a tidy room but always started off confused. How did it get so messy? Who had been shoving all of those papers under my dresser?  Why were my parents doing this to me?

 

I turned into a pretty decent adult who enjoys living in relative cleanliness. I'll hold out hope for my boys.

 

I'm telling you, though. I never put clean clothes in my dirty laundry basket.

Never.

 

 

Be brave, misfits, and clean your rooms.

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