My daughter’s bedroom has the largest
landfill closet in the house. And, apparently, she has been utilizing it as the fastest method of bedroom cleaning.
We discovered the problem this weekend, but really should have picked up on it earlier, due to our dwindling supply of bath towels and teaspoons.
A closet cleaning mandate was delivered with work starting Friday.
Two garbage bags of random detritus has been removed and some interesting artifacts have been found.
A baby caterpillar. (I questioned “dead or alive?” and was told “IDK; I just threw it away”)
1/2 a hamper of white socks.
A ball-peen hammer.
Random stuffed animals
An interesting mix of possibly deadly and soft and cuddly. A lot like my daughter, who, on Friday morning, had a temper tantrum befitting a four year old. “I hate you!” “You’re mean!” “I have THE WORST PARENTS EVER!”
She spent all of Friday in her room.
Saturday she was wonderful; hopefully the product of thoughtful rumination on her sins, more likely the result of a good night’s sleep and a desire to get her cell phone back.
She helped me make food for Easter.
We spent hours shopping for Easter in a crowded store and she didn’t complain.
She dyed eggs for a centerpiece, stuffed plastic eggs with candy for an Easter egg hunt.
Voluntarily cleaned the bathroom. (I almost swooned in disbelief.)
She even said, at one point, “You know, it’s weird, right now I have everything I want.”
Rather than her cell phone, clothes, and i-pod, I’m chosing to believe that she was referring to intangibles, to a sense of contentment with her life, with her family, friends and school. Because, ultimately, that is what I desire for both of my children.