Parents vs kids: Round 5: Cleaning the bedroom/playroom


Another never ending battle for us parents, something that drives us nuts and will make a child melt down faster than you can say “No more cookies”, cleaning up their bedroom and/or playroom.

We have both. A bedroom and playroom.

The boys have too much crap. Way too much. Which leads to BIG messes. There are times that every single toy they have is strewn about their room in such a manner that you cannot see the carpet.

We had one such incident last week. Before my little angels went to bed I made the announcement that we are cleaning the bedroom and playroom. Both boys went into a total temper tantrum meltdown. You would think I had just stabbed them in the heart. After being stern and using my best mother voice, Brett started to help me. Eli, he threw himself on the floor and pretended to be dead. His eyes were open and he was groaning, but he was pretending to be dead. So, I did what any mother who was at the end of her rope would do.

Kept on cleaning. Yes, that’s right, I ignored his little butt. Brett and I stepped over him and kept on cleaning. After about 20 minutes of me not paying attention to his being dead in the middle of the playroom he got up, walked up to me and shouted “MOMMA!”

I said nothing. Kept on picking up toys.

He shouted again, “MOMMA!”
Momma: What Eli?

Eli: No, momma!
Momma: No what Eli?

He grabbed the toy out of my hand and threw it.

I walked over picked it up and put it away.

“We’re cleaning.”
He threw himself to the floor and was pretending to be dead…again. I’m not entirely sure where he learned this. Perhaps it’s programmed in kids heads that cleaning = they’ll die. I’ve never heard of a kid dying from picking up toys, but apparently they are good fakers…even at the tender age of 2.

So 1 1/2 hours (Yes…one and a half HOURS after starting to clean) later Brett and I finished. Eli…pushed himself around the rooms on his  back using his legs…following us…but not helping.

I’m hoping it gets easier. I doubt it because I remember what my brothers room looked like when he was 16. It still sends shivers down my spine. At least we’re not at the point of putting plates, bowls and cups under our beds until they fester and mold.

I hope we don’t get to that point.

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