Last Monday, which was the last day I was home before returning to work (see "Stop the World" below for why), I decided to clean the kids' rooms. I don't mean the shove-everything-under-the-bed-or-in-the-closet clean that they usually do. I mean CLEAN the rooms. Something I very rarely do because it is such a colossal undertaking. At ages 7 and 5, you wouldn't think it should be, but it is. However, as such cleanings are usually difficult because everything I want to throw away must be kept, I figured I had the perfect opportunity. You see, they were at daycare.
Armed with a kitchen garbage bag, I sallied forth to do battle. The Boy's room was not too bad. Got rid of some broken crayons, bunches of crumpled paper, and a few fast-food restaurant toys (the bane of any parent's existence, of that I am convinced). I found at least 2 of the 3 missing socks that have plagued me for a few months now, as well as the bottoms to two pairs of pjs. Found and reassembled the pieces of a Spiderman toy, and put away all the wooden Thomas the Tank Engine pieces. A quick vacuum and voila! clean room.
I knew that The Girl's room would be more work. First, it's bigger. Second, she's a pack rat, just like her aunt (not that my sister likes that comparison, but it's true). So I decided to eat lunch first. Good call.
Two and a half hours, and two full bags of garbage later, I had finished. The list of stuff I found would go on for several paragraphs. In addition to the typical litter, I found underwear that had be stuffed under the radiator for at least a month (good thing it was unsoiled), two missing socks, and 2 missing pairs of shoes. I picked up feet for those Bratz dolls by the dozen. I filled an entire tin full of little jewelry beads. I tossed out not only crumpled paper, dried-out markers, and broken crayons, but at least 12 old copies of National Geographic. Oy vey.
As I worked through this chore, and then as I recovered afterward, all I could think of was, "Where does a 7-year old get so much junk?" The answer is people give it to her.
And people are always giving her things. My father's fiancee is an older woman who loves kids. How can I possibly break her heart and say, "I don't want you bringing my kids any more crap"? Last time it was a miniature china tea set and a Spiderman motorcycle. I've managed to win the "no toys with a billion tiny pieces" battle, but that's not the same as "no toys."
Compounding the problem is The Girl saves everything. And I do mean everything. Don't ask how many of those cheapie fast-food toys I pitched from her room. There's an entire corner of stuffed animals, none of which she really plays with. In fact, I'd say she really only plays with about half of the stuff in her room, yet all of it is "special to me." Her first-grade teacher sent a thank-you note for the end-of-year gift the class sent. Me, I would have read it, said "How nice," and thrown it away. The Girl taped it to her bed. Sentimental, of course, but rough on the furniture.
My daughter is at an odd spot in her life. Too old for baby toys, just old enough for books. Not quite ready to ditch the Barbie dolls. Wants all the bead kits to make jewelry, but not quite ready to string the tiny ones. The result? A mess. The magazines she brought home from school at the end of the year. Said she liked the pictures, which she cuts out to make art projects. She's just entering the "signs on the door stage too" - things like "Girls Only" or "No Boys Alowd" (her spelling), or "Cool Girl Lives Here."
It's been a long time since I was at that spot in my life, but I dimly remember it. And that's why I have a hard time making her stop. Oh sure, every once in a while we go through the toy bins and stuffed animals, make both kids decide what to keep and what to give to charity, and thin the mess. But to lay down a law that says, "Don't make any more signs?" What kind of parent would I be?
Because at the heart of the mess - the broken crayons, the beads, the markers, the glitter glue, and used up paper - is her growing desire to express her personality. The same goes for The Boy, he's just a little further behind his sister. Through expression comes definition - who am I. It's process we all have to go through, and usually go through multiple times in our lives. The misspelled signs and collages of ballerinas are my child's attempt to define herself in a world where she still doesn't have a lot of control. Yeah, I could put an end to it, but while that sure would be easier on me I don't think it would be that great for her.
So I will continue to fight the losing battle against clutter, probably for many years to come. One piece of advice: Buy stock in whatever company makes Glad trash bags. I'm going to be using a lot of them.
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