“What is going on in this room?” I asked when I returned home from work and found my oldest daughter’s room, yet again, in a state of disarray. Her room should be featured on Hoarders.
And twice, recently, we have gotten it so sparkling clean, that I found walking into her room to be an enjoyable experience.
Somehow, she does not get the same happy feeling that I get from walking into a clean room. So as soon as she feels that she can get away with it, her room returns to the disgusting state from which it had originally been. In some cases, even worse.
Today, it seems to have returned to a state that FEMA would declare uninhabitable.
“I’m playing princesses,” she told me, plainly.
“Okay, but remember that we discussed princess’s live in nice, clean rooms?”
“So, then, tell Daddy to hire me a maid.”
Yeah. I’m on it. Stand in line, sista.
I have tried everything with this child to keep her room clean. I have tried a reward system, I have tried bribery, I have tried flat out doing in myself and pleading with her to simply keep it clean. All to no avail.
I retreated from the room, and went in search of something stronger to drink than water. Seemed I was going to need it.
“Mom,” Paige said, as she wandered downstairs into the kitchen. “Is dinner almost ready?”
“Paige, it’s 2:30, I haven’t even started dinner yet.”
“Oh. Well, can I change into my dinner dress?” She really takes this princess stuff seriously. She just turned seven. At some point, someone is going to have to have the unfortunate conversation with her that she’s not actually of royal decent.
“Because your room’s not cleaned yet,” I said, not looking up from my magazine.
“Oh, mother,” she sighed. “You don’t have the first idea about privacy.”
First of all, I have no idea what that has to do with the original conversation. Second of all, you’re right. I DON’T have the first idea about privacy. I’m a mother. I haven’t been able to pee with the door shut in peace for seven years.