Which is exactly where the first problem in the Great Bedroom Saga was waiting for me. We have one basic rule in our house: your room is your room. I don't care if it's messy. I don't care if you don't put your clothes away. I don't care if you haven't made your bed. As long as the room doesn't smell like a dried up fish stick and your don't leave your junk lying around the rest of the house, I can live with a messy room.
Until it's time to redecorate. I am not even going to try to redecorate a room with Lego strewn across the floor. Have you ever stepped on a Lego? I have and it hurts. So if there's Lego (or one of the many other little toys they seem to keep on the floor) lying around, I'm not painting. Ever.
Bear in mind that this whole redecorating thing wasn't exactly my idea. The kids came up with the plan. So I figured it was only fair that they get their own junk off the floor before I bought the first can of paint. Good idea.
So what do the kids do? Nothing, as it turns out. I send them to clean their room, promising a trip to the hardware store just as soon as it's done. Ten minutes later, the kids return and ask to go to the hardware store. That seemed just a little quick to me, so I decided to check. They hadn't even picked up the dreaded Lego. No hardware store.
My youngest, who has Asperger's, had an immediate breakdown. He wanted the hardware store, he expected the hardware store, and he was going to have a meltdown (which looks like a tantrum but actually isn't) until we went to the hardware store. My oldest son, who had apparently planned this out, was just about smirking. He had to go to his not-cleaned room while I dealt with the little one.
Eventually, by repeating myself at least a dozen times, I managed to get the little one to understand the sequence of events according to Mommy. Clean up, then hardware store. Clean up, then hardware store. Little one was on board. Now for the big one.
"Why can't you clean it up?" was his big question.
"Fine," I replied. "But Mommy cleans with a garbage bag. I'm going to get my garbage bag. Anything left on the floor is definitely garbage. I'll be back in two minutes."
Usually my threats are pretty empty, but I think he realized that I just might be serious. By the time I got back, garbage bag in hand, Tristan (my older son) was slowly cleaning up. Slowly, but it was a start. The younger one was sitting next to the bunk beds looking confused. A few minutes of careful coaching and Rowan too was cleaning up. Sort of. But it was good enough.
I helped, of course, and thirty minutes later we were ready for a trip to the hardware store. Doesn't that sound like fun?
