Typically, I find myself echoing the same phrases my mother used to repeat to me. These reminders about specific behaviors seem to surface on a regular basis: “Chew with your mouth closed.” “Don’t pick at your teeth.” “Napkin on your lap, please.” “It’s ‘most fun,’ not ‘funnest.’” “Make your bed.” “Clean your room.”
Little did I know, the very admonishments that felt like personal attacks in my youth would become equally exasperating to voice as a parent. As a child, I viewed such reminders as character assaults, each correction making me bristle with indignation. Yet, in hindsight, I now appreciate how those persistent nudges shaped my table manners and vocabulary—thanks to those long hours of boredom when I was told to read a book instead of watching TV.
It is a parent’s duty to educate. We are like living versions of a “How to Be a Person” manual. Some of us may be missing pages or even entire chapters, but it is our responsibility to guide our children toward becoming well-adjusted adults.
I always thought my mom was too strict, nitpicking every small infraction. However, once I became a parent myself, my perspective shifted. As the eldest of eight children, I now realize that my mother was diligent in instilling the values of cleanliness and good manners in me, whereas my younger siblings’ habits may not have faced the same scrutiny. My youngest brother definitely isn’t held to the same standards as I was. During family dinners, I was corrected for improper use of utensils, while my little brother once licked his plate clean, and I found it endearing.
As a result of my more regimented upbringing, my first two children maintain relatively tidy rooms. Clothes are put in the hamper, and beds are made most days. You’d think that such behavior would naturally extend to the younger two. But that assumption is far from reality.
My youngest children—a 12-year-old boy and an 18-year-old girl—are delightful but have messy habits that leave much to be desired. My son, while not the brightest at times, just graduated to seventh grade, proving that he has some capability. And my daughter, oh my chaotic girl, avoids laundry like the plague, covering her floor with dirty clothes as if she’s airing them out for future use. Piles of jeans and T-shirts lurk in corners, seemingly composting, though whether they receive regular attention is anyone’s guess.
This year, she balanced three jobs with an honors course load, so I know she’s capable when she wants to be. But how do I explain the empty water bottles scattered across her desk and an overflowing trash can filled with crumpled wrappers?
I’ve spent countless hours urging them to tidy up: “Make your bed.” “Empty your trash.” “Put your clean clothes away.” Blah, blah, blah. Yet, these reminders don’t seem to register as threats to their character. A clean room simply isn’t a priority for them.
Over time, I’ve pondered how important cleanliness should be on my list of priorities. Is an organized workspace really worth the fuss? I’ve learned that I’d prefer my child practicing the saxophone over making her bed—though I remain steadfast in my goal of not raising someone with poor table manners.
This struggle became even more poignant as I returned home after dropping my daughter off at college. In the days leading up to her departure, her room was a whirlwind of clothes and two giant suitcases waiting to be filled. The chaos spilled down the stairs, where a mound of Target bags filled with dorm essentials grew.
When I last saw her room, things were in a state of transition, but I was struck by the sight of her messy space. As I kissed her goodbye, I reminded her, “Please try to leave your room tidy. At least make your bed.” I knew she had a lot on her mind, preparing for the big leap into college life so soon after high school. Why did I feel the need to nag? Can’t I control that impulse?
We hit the road about 15 minutes behind schedule, a record for me, driving four rainy hours while the other passengers dozed. After arriving, we navigated the chaos of move-in day, which always includes a trip to Target for last-minute essentials. Once her bed was made and the room arranged to my satisfaction, it was time to say goodbye.
The ride home was filled with melancholy. My other two children and I listened to David Sedaris’s Me Talk Pretty One Day, which provided some much-needed laughter. After we got home, I headed up to change into my pajamas but instead found myself drawn to my daughter’s room.
I opened the door, and my heart sank. All those years of pleading for her to tidy up had culminated in a stunningly perfect room: the bed was made, the desk organized, and no clothes were hidden away in the closet.
She had finally achieved the cleanliness I had long desired, but now it felt empty. The vibrant energy that once filled that room had relocated 263 miles away.
Now, I have the clean room I always wanted, but at what cost? Good luck to her new roommates; they’re going to need it.
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Summary
This article reflects on the challenges of guiding children toward cleanliness and responsibility. The author shares personal experiences about parenting, the evolution of her standards, and the bittersweet moment of realizing her daughter has finally cleaned her room—just as she leaves for college.