‘Tidy your bedroom’ I bellow to my six-year-old. I know shouting is not the best solution when you need your child to tidy the dump that is their bedroom. However, politely asking three times was futile; the stern ‘I’m not messing’ tone was also fruitless, so shouting my head off was needed.
This is revenge. The parenting Gods have decided to curse me with the messiest, lazy child in order to punish me on behalf of my own parents. I still remember the weekends spent with a black bin bag and my mother vowing ‘this is the last time that your room gets in this state; next time I will bin the lot.’ That never happened despite many more incidents where my bedroom resembled a post-apocalyptic battle zone.
As I sit on the bed and listen to the toys clank around; I know my son will not do a good job. My son’s version of tidy is to play with all his toys, then pile them under the cabin bed and say ‘it’s tidy, you can see the floor now mummy.’ At this moment he is building another car while kicking stuff under the bed, he has multi-tasking down to a fine art.
I have decided to have a moment to myself. Having just cleaned the entire kitchen, mopped and put the washing away. I think I deserve ten minutes of peace. However, the only place where I can get a moment of blissful silence is my own bedroom; which looks like it has been burgled and the thieves thought it would be funny to throw clothes everywhere. I can never win at the game of housework.
How do these house-proud mothers do it? Do they sacrifice sleep or have they worked out how to clone themselves? It’s a miracle that I keep myself and my kids clean without having to do the house as well. What is their secret; do they sell their soul to the cleaning devil? I can imagine that a human soul could be exchanged for countless years of a spotless house. Perhaps, unlike me, they spend their money on a cleaner rather than an endless supply of makeup, candles, perfume and pound-shop tat.
Maybe I am just messy; messy mind, messy house. If you could get qualifications in causing chaos, then I would have a first class degree. Disruption and disarray follow me like an unpleasant bout of the farts. At least now that I have children, I can blame my own clumsiness on them. I spilt a whole bottle of juice at a restaurant and the waiter thought it was my two-year-old daughter; we even got a replacement drink.
Children do come with benefits.
Just as I am beginning to enjoy the sensation of just sitting here, not having the barrage of questions and moaning that comes from having children, my son proudly announces ‘Mummy, I’m done.’ He pops his head around the corner of the door with an angelic smile on his face.
Now, like every well-meaning parent that does not want to emotionallyscar their children; I must paint the pretend enthusiasm on my own face.
‘Great, let’s have a look, little dude.’
I lift myself off the refuge that I call my bed and slowly make my way towards the ‘boy cave’.
My son’s room is a six-year old’s heaven; superheroes adorn the wall, cars of all shapes and sizes lurk in vast quantities and we have enough Lego in there to open a shop. I scan around the room with a hawkish glare. I was right, I am always right.
My son has done a slap-dash job of hiding everything under the cabin bed. If I had hired him to clean up I would be giving him bad reviews on the internet and calling him a cowboy. I do not have the energy for this battle, I roll my eyes, let out a sigh and say ‘great, you can see the floor.’
Is midday too early for a glass of Rose?
I hope you enjoyed this little bit of fiction writing. I am hoping to share some more of my writing soon.
Do you relate to messy mum?