I have tried to be a parent who teaches his kids the value of cleaning up after themselves, cleaning their room, and taking care of their stuff. Pretty much to no avail. I still have to yell, scream, and threaten to get them to clean up their rooms and you would think that asking them to clean their rooms was the worst thing that I had ever asked them to do and that I had no idea how hard they had it when they have to clean their rooms. I know, horrible parent right?
This weekend I assisted the boy with his room. Assisted should be in quotes as I did most of the work. Five hours of work. Yes, you read that right, five hours and four garbage bags. Two bags filled up with the remains of an awesome castle and house built out cardboard boxes and tape. Awesome until the kids played with them to death. Three bags of dead pens, markers, paper, instruction manuals for Legos, and fast food toys. I could not believe the amount of stuff there was hidden in his room. Even with all of that, I had not gotten under his bed, but how bad could that be?
Last night there was loud thud. We found the boy lying on the floor, he had fallen out of bed and possibly bounced off of his dresser. This is the second time this has happened, being a good parent I decided while he was in school to move his dresser. BIG. MISTAKE!
The dresser moved fine. The stuff underneath and behind did not. The stuff under his bed was clearly visible. The clean person in me was motivated. I should have told that person to mind their own business. A quick swipe under the bed pulled out more paper than I thought possible, two good pairs of scissors, a bowl long thought lost, a small zoo of stuffed animals, and Legos. Lots of Legos. When I couldn’t reach anything I moved the bed.
Never again. The bed stays in place. When we move I am hiring an exorcist to cleanse the place, moving out, leaving the bed behind, and a note of warning. There are no signs that under his bed is a portal to another dimension where toys, paper, instructions, scissors, and other objects around the house go to. Move the bed though and you find yourself staring into the maw of…hell seems to harsh, the way the giant dust bunny was eye-balling me though hell may not be far off. Toys, tons of toys, and stuffed animals wedged together. Months of pushing them under the bed had compacted them into a toy version of headcheese.
And the second I moved the bed aside the entire pile expanded up and out, making putting the bed back impossible. I was not going to jump in there to recompress the pile. I may not return, those toys smelled freedom and they made a break for it. I backed out of the room, closed the door, and made that silent prayer you make when something breaks, but you don’t want to acknowledge that it broke so you leave it alone hoping the next time you use it that it works.