MIND THE MESS!
Kate’s had it up to here with her son’s floor-drobe
My sons have taken to making clothing “installations” in their bedroom. I’m calling them installations because I’m trying to find a fancy name for what is ostensibly a pile of clothing as big as my car that sits on their bedroom floor.
“Is this a sculpture of some kind?” I asked one son one day after I’d had enough of the mess. “Huh?” he replied. “This huge pile of clothes, which seemingly grows in size every day, is this some kind of art installation or museum piece?” I asked. “No,” he replied. “What is it then?” I asked. “My clothes,” he said, looking at me like I was a moron.
“Yes, I see that,” I said. “But what I want to know is, why?” “Why what?” he mumbled. “Why is it all on the floor?!” “Because it is,” he replied. “Not good enough,” I barked. “It’s disgusting, lazy, slothful and gross. It’s a pigsty in here and you will not have a single clean piece of clothing to wear.” “It’s all clean,” he protested. “No, it isn’t,” I replied. “I like it like that,” he tried to explain. “I know where everything is and it’s just easier.”
“What’s the point in having drawers and a wardrobe then?” I enquired. “Dunno,” he said. “Well, it’s not good enough to live in squalor like this. I want this entire clothing mountain cleared away into your drawers by the end of the day.” “Bit harsh,” he replied. “I beg your pardon?” I asked. “It’s a bit harsh,” he said. “I mean, it’s my room, they’re my clothes and I’ve paid for them. I like them like that. I don’t mind the mess. I don’t even see it – it’s just easier to have it all there.” “How is it easier?” I probed. “Because I know where it all is,” he said. “I can quickly grab stuff and go – like my basketball gear is on the top, my uniform is on the side, the bottom of the pile has my jackets, my socks are to the left, my caps are on this side and my shorts are over there.”
“Wow,” I replied. “I’m not buying it, babe. Pick it all up please. It’s depressing.”
“Mum,” he ventured, “I don’t want you to feel depressed about my mess, so I have an even better solution for you – don’t come into my room.”
“Good try,” I laughed. “Have this all cleaned up by dinner time or I’m chucking it in a clothing bin.”
As I closed his door behind me and went back upstairs, I wondered if it is really the end of the world. Does it matter that his room’s a tip and the clothes are everywhere? Is it worth the fight? Maybe I should just shut his door and look the other way.
I returned to his room with renewed calm and perspective.
“Actually, don’t worry about it – just leave it,” I said. “You’re right. I’ll stay out and just keep your door closed.”
My son looked at me. “I know what you’re doing,” he said. “Reverse psychology.” And with that, he started picking up his clothes. A parenting win without even trying. Must remember that one.