Oooh NO-O-O-O!!! Not My Headless Dragon!
(warning, absolute rubbishy twaddle ahead - and a faintly pathetic/pathetically faint cry for help lol)
(oh, and sorry about the Bloglines/Google Reader/RSS feed stuff up, hopefully it's fixed now cos I have retweaked my template settings. I originally tweaked them cos anonymous peeps keep googling their anonymous way here looking for anonymous help in "how to make a grass skirt", but unfortunately that effed up the RSS feed settings so I've set Katie The Techno Geek loose on the fix-up.)
It's just that I wanna be able to rescue my babies if there's a fire in the night, without breaking my own leg. But I also respect their space. And there's the small matter of The Disappearing Socks, and the fast-appearing Need To Find The School Uniforms daze.
For the last few weeks I've had my head buried in the sand and surf while the kiddos (for probably the only time in their lives) have been blithely Counting Down The Sleeps Until School Starts. At the excuse of purging The Bad Cop from my persona, I've been ignoring all sorts of pile-ups. Starting with my wardrobe, which is still seven inches deep with last year's homeschooling paraphernalia unstacked all over the floor. Talk about a potential hospital trip. Also talk about subconsciously not wanting to adios my previous life just yet.
But the time has come for a massive clean out. Yessir, it's out with procrastination, and in with School Uniforms neatly folded in the drawers.
This afternoon, armed with a Big Fat Chocolate Bar (as incentive) and Katie's biceps (which have expanded by 0.5cm in the last six weeks, oh yes. But oh dear, so has her waistline - that's another story) and a big bottle of water for rehydration cos it's soooo hot here we began The Excavation of The Boys' Room.
EGADS - instantly the level of emotion has risen - and I am pendulum-swinging between non-conflict and desperation as The Two Dollar Headless Dragon is in the throes of being rescued from the rubbish bag and reinstated on the bookshelf. But his head is nowhere to be seen. The chocolate bar is already half eaten and for miles around all we can see are boxes of stuff. And there is shrieking. So here I am - escaping.
*little conflicting voices in my head*
Harden Up Katie. Oh Vizzini, you really are a meanie. Bring It On. Find The Cop Hat. Many Hands Make Light Work. Too Many Cooks Spoil The Broth. Just Leave It. Just Do It. Gently Now. Let's All Have A Square Of Chocolate. Let's Ask Daddy To Help. Absolutely Positively Tidyton. Rinse And Repeat.
Oh, Charlie has just told me this joke:
Q: What do you call a man who hides in the letterbox?
A: Bill.
Oh, and Sam is serenading me with his beautiful rendition of Donavon Frankenreiter's Whatcha Know About - which is now in the sidebar.
Oh, and Mick and Raych have now turned on James and the Giant Peach audio book from the library.
Oh, and Danny is on a Long Weekend Road Trip with Bob who is in search of some 3,000,000 volt speakers or something.
Oh, and Bulldog has zipped in to skool to do a little jobbie and nip to the gym, cos his hammy (which he pulled during speed training a week ago) is still on the light duties.
Maybe I'll put on my fairy wings and throw the kids in the pool and then I can sneak in and suck everything up the vacuum cleaner? Oh, except The Headless Dragon.
I need advice. Yes I do. Hello out there.....?
(oh, and sorry about the Bloglines/Google Reader/RSS feed stuff up, hopefully it's fixed now cos I have retweaked my template settings. I originally tweaked them cos anonymous peeps keep googling their anonymous way here looking for anonymous help in "how to make a grass skirt", but unfortunately that effed up the RSS feed settings so I've set Katie The Techno Geek loose on the fix-up.)
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
This is the part I like least about Being A Mummy - The "Bad Cop" part. Over the years, I've tried various sorts of incentives and, quite frankly, bribes; and turned many blind eyes. ("...one eye lookin' atcha, one eye lookin' FOR ya...") I've cajoled and sometimes threatened and even sneaked up on The Kids' Bedrooms a.k.a. I'm Not Jinxing It, But You're Gonna Break Your Leg In There.It's just that I wanna be able to rescue my babies if there's a fire in the night, without breaking my own leg. But I also respect their space. And there's the small matter of The Disappearing Socks, and the fast-appearing Need To Find The School Uniforms daze.
For the last few weeks I've had my head buried in the sand and surf while the kiddos (for probably the only time in their lives) have been blithely Counting Down The Sleeps Until School Starts. At the excuse of purging The Bad Cop from my persona, I've been ignoring all sorts of pile-ups. Starting with my wardrobe, which is still seven inches deep with last year's homeschooling paraphernalia unstacked all over the floor. Talk about a potential hospital trip. Also talk about subconsciously not wanting to adios my previous life just yet.
But the time has come for a massive clean out. Yessir, it's out with procrastination, and in with School Uniforms neatly folded in the drawers.
This afternoon, armed with a Big Fat Chocolate Bar (as incentive) and Katie's biceps (which have expanded by 0.5cm in the last six weeks, oh yes. But oh dear, so has her waistline - that's another story) and a big bottle of water for rehydration cos it's soooo hot here we began The Excavation of The Boys' Room.
EGADS - instantly the level of emotion has risen - and I am pendulum-swinging between non-conflict and desperation as The Two Dollar Headless Dragon is in the throes of being rescued from the rubbish bag and reinstated on the bookshelf. But his head is nowhere to be seen. The chocolate bar is already half eaten and for miles around all we can see are boxes of stuff. And there is shrieking. So here I am - escaping.
*little conflicting voices in my head*
Harden Up Katie. Oh Vizzini, you really are a meanie. Bring It On. Find The Cop Hat. Many Hands Make Light Work. Too Many Cooks Spoil The Broth. Just Leave It. Just Do It. Gently Now. Let's All Have A Square Of Chocolate. Let's Ask Daddy To Help. Absolutely Positively Tidyton. Rinse And Repeat.
Oh, Charlie has just told me this joke:
Q: What do you call a man who hides in the letterbox?
A: Bill.
Oh, and Sam is serenading me with his beautiful rendition of Donavon Frankenreiter's Whatcha Know About - which is now in the sidebar.
Oh, and Mick and Raych have now turned on James and the Giant Peach audio book from the library.
Oh, and Danny is on a Long Weekend Road Trip with Bob who is in search of some 3,000,000 volt speakers or something.
Oh, and Bulldog has zipped in to skool to do a little jobbie and nip to the gym, cos his hammy (which he pulled during speed training a week ago) is still on the light duties.
Maybe I'll put on my fairy wings and throw the kids in the pool and then I can sneak in and suck everything up the vacuum cleaner? Oh, except The Headless Dragon.
I need advice. Yes I do. Hello out there.....?
posted by skatey katie @ 2:51 PM
11 Comments:
I only ever clean the boys rooms when they are not at home
its much easier to do myself otherwise theres fights about whats being thrown away
Jen
The eldest boy has to tidy his room every Sunday afternoon and every Sunday afternoon he has a huge tantrum about it (but does it eventually). We just lob him in the room like a fizzing hand grenade, shut the door and let the explosion occur. The room is always mysteriously tidy afterwards...
umm, drive the seven inches deep of homeschooly paraphenalia over to hicksville where we are about to embark on the lifestyle you are currently purging?
i think that's all the advice i have, sorry ;)
kisses i have though - xxxxxx
Ronnie, unschooling mom over at Blog of the ZombiePrincess, has been room cleaning recently. I had a comment on her post here :
http://zombieprincess.blogspot.com/2009/01/careless-schmareless.html
-- I sound pretty calm, composed, wise, huh? 24 hours after I wrote that comment, I was sobbing about trying to get the house in order for the realtor's visit, and no one helping me. The kids were pitching in, afraid I was losing my mind, but I hated that I was manipulating them into helping me with my tantrum. Bleh.
Ronnie writes about "control", and I think that's what it's about for me. When I'm apprehensive about other things in my life that I have no control over, i think that if I can just get some control over the house, this room, that closet, create some ORDER, then I'll be able to breathe, to calm down. I get all panicky that it HAS be done and done my way.
Sorry that wasn't a lot of help. The only way my sobbing tantrum helped me was that I'm a little more motivated not to let it happen again. I hate whining and making my kids feel bad, guilty. "Grow up, Laura. You're the adult here, remember??"
Who is it that says, "Put the relationship first?" Joyce Feterrol? Hopefully, next time I feel a meltdown coming on, I'll take a breath and remember that.
Um, no great advice. Pack up the stuff they haven't used in the last month? or six months? Do they have enough storage for all their stuff? Or do they have too much stuff?
We're going through the same thing here, especially since we're planning a move. If I find the Secret of Cleanliness I will let you know!
Leave it all, pop over to ours to see what a REAL mess looks like, decide you live in a show home, grab the malibu and pineapple juice and we'll screech to the beach for a wee toast to your health! And join St John's for $67 so the last minute dash to the hospital will be covered and done by professionals who know how to dodge piles on boy's bedroom's floor's (I committed the apostrophe crimes on purpose, because I couldn't be bothered thinking about it).
Honestly. You live in a welcoming, always tidy, always smelling like barista heaven and sounding like kiddie heaven Show Home quality utopia.
Kisses I have, also xoxoxo
Ah yeah, I know a paramedic who would take you anywhere you wanted to go... just because it was you. He has been known to accept short black bribes though. The Mess. Hmmm. I think I've stopped letting it bother me. No, that's not entirely true... sometimes I stick my head in and shout a lot and say you're not coming out til it's fixed. But those are the days I need a martini, not the days I actually care what their rooms look like. And as Tim so rightly pointed out two nights ago when he surveyed the disaster-area also know as The Master Bedroom, who are we to talk? The lecturing side of me says my kids have lots of storage boxes that stack neatly iside their wardrobes and if the toys don't fit in one of those, then they can't keep them. The other side of me asks who am I to tell them what treasure is? I think your place is perfect. And the word verification is so funny and appropriate I'm going to take a photo and send it to you! Have a mojito and enjoy the sun. xxx
Well you've seen my office, and my kids have seen my office, so it makes it a hard argument to convince them that they need to tidy the lounge or bedrooms. Quite often though, I get two plastic bags, write their names on each one and hang it on the end of the stair. I give them a time limit (a really good time limit) and tell them, if I find anything of theirs still on the floor when times up, it goes into their plastic bag, and then it goes into the big bad green rubbish bin with wheels which lives outside our door. I have also bribed them with pocket money, an ice cream afterwards, back scratches, etc etc. If all else fails, and you break a leg, I have a friend who is an ambo officer and also a stripper.
I love having a timer and a stereo. By first putting on some uplifting tunes with a good beat, I can get motivated to move. Then I set the timer so I can commit to spending a certain amount of time on the project. I may have to re-evaluate how much time I need and do another shift later, but I'm often surprised how quickly the time has flown and how much I actually got done by the time the timer goes off and then I'm just so into it, that I just want to continue and finish the job. I know you like music too so hopefully this helps.
Yeah girl, this resonnates... my office is a summer stunner, with mail and junk piled up 6 weeks high! We havent been home for more than 5 days straight this holidays, preferring to be at the beach and in denial about the amount of tedious domestic stuff that still needs to be done!! I am now waiting "till school goes back" - that's the new buzz word on everyone's lips - to get my house in order. Love Fab Feather's ideas about plastic bags and wheelie bins! xx
Mess isn't mess until you can't walk across the floor. Ah, youngest son's (19)room is like that!Many years ago I decided the least stressful option was to ignore what was behind my 3 son's doors. If you're lucky visiting girlfriends will blitz the rooms. One other painless method that worked while youngest son was away at camp, was to put everything, except obvious rubbish, into boxes in the spare room. When he returned he had a week to take back anything he wanted and as he had been living in a tent for 10 days with just the basics he took back a few things and was happy for me to get rid of the rest.
Life is far too short to be stressing over mess, ha I'm trying to de-clutter the house so we can sell and move to NZ! So yes I stress, knowing me we'll throw everything into a container and bring it all with us.
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