Wednesday, March 16, 2011
I had to get all Mommie Dearest on the family the other day. I ventured forth into the teen boy's room, thinking I would clean it a bit while he was at youth group. As I entered the room, I was taken aback by how much worse it was than I had envisioned. I soldiered on, however, and started putting clothes (the nice, neatly folded clothes I had asked him to put away) away in drawers and hanging things up. I was gathering the dirty clothes from all corners of the room when I noticed a dirty sock peeking out from under the bed. I got down on my hands and knees, lifted the bedskirt and....I screamed. Yes, I did. And I uttered some foul language. You see, I had asked The Boy many, many times to clean out under his beds. He had assured me that he had done it. He didn't.
The space under the beds was stuffed full of dirty clothes, papers, food items (I pulled 2 spoons, 2 bowls, and 4 cups from under ONE bed!), dust, dog brushes and leashes, tennis balls, books, trash and many more items I was much too scared to take a closer look at!
I was furious. I decided to leave his room and see how The Princess's bedroom looked. Her bedroom looked OK, but when I glanced into her bathroom I saw a humongous pile of dirty clothes which she, apparently, was too lazy to put in the hamper.
I glanced in The Boy's bathroom and saw dirty clothing and wet towels all over the floor.
I decided to go back and work on Mr. Wonderful's and my closet. I had been working diligently on it - wiping all the shelves down and cleaning out our drawers. I had completely reorganized all Mr. W's drawers and refolded all his clothes the day before, so I thought I'd work on his shelves and finish the closet.
But when I walked into our closet, I saw a pile of sweatshirts - the sweatshirts I had folded and put neatly away in his sweatshirt drawer the day before - lying in a heap on the floor.
I took a deep breath and continued on.
His drawers were all hanging open and I saw shirts inside out and wadded in a ball!!
At this point there was steam coming out of my ears and flames (interspersed with the colorful names I was calling my slovenly family) coming from my mouth. I decided to give up on any further attempts to restore order to the house and I sat down and fumed read a magazine until the family got home.
When the family arrived home I ordered everyone into the living room where I re-introduced them to Mommie Dearest and called to order a family meeting. I fussed at the kids. I lectured and harangued. The kids were, mostly, looking suitably chastened when I turned to Mr. W and said, "And YOU!" HE looked astonished and said, "Me? What did I do?" I proceeded to tell him exactly what he did. I was on a roll...there was no stopping me. I am woman, hear me roar!
As I continued with my tirade against people who can't even be bothered to make an attempt to fold their clothes, I noticed Mr. W looking decidedly amused. It annoyed me enough to pause my diatribe for a moment. "What is so funny?", I asked him.
He widened his eyes in his most sincere manner and said, "Nothing, honey. But I can't fold clothes. You know that." I huffed, still in full-blown martyr mode, and said, "Hah! You could at least make an attempt!" He replied, "If I was the kind of guy who folded his clothes all neatly, you would never had married me."
"What are you talking about? I'd LOVE it if you'd fold your clothes!", I responded.
He proceeded to explain that, "If I were the kind of guy who knew how to fold clothes all neatly, my name would be Geoffrey and I wouldn't have been interested in you. Ahem."
At this point the kids were gasping and howling in mirth, Mr. W was grinning because he thought he was (a) exceedingly clever and (b) had given the perfect excuse to never ever have to fold his clothes again. Apparently, I was supposed to be so overcome by his exhibition of manliness (the inside out, wadded up shirts), that not only would I forgive him, but I would even thank him profusely.
I glanced in consternation at The Boy and The Princess, who were rolling on the floor with tears streaming down their faces and Mr. (not always so) Wonderful who had a definite smirk on his face and looked very proud of himself. My lips twitched and I tried to hold on to my stern expression. I glanced at my family again. I snorted. I giggled. I guffawed.
If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.
Posted by Lisa at 8:33 AM