When I was twelve, my mother had a meltdown that many adults only fantasize about but lack the courage to execute. After days of reminding my siblings to tidy up, she reached her breaking point. She took charge and hurled the contents of my brothers’ room out the window. There’s only so many times you can ask your beloved children to clean their mess before you lose your patience and send their belongings flying from the second story. My kids better take heed; I’m getting close.
I have four kids—three sons and a daughter. Let’s focus on the boys first. Picture this: they share a bathroom with a decent-sized tub and a freshly updated vanity. It sounds lovely, right? Well, it would be if it weren’t covered in boxer shorts and, yes, urine.
Let’s talk about the urine situation. Aiming? Not a chance. It appears they simply drop their pants and let it fly. The scarcity of cleaning wipes? That’s because mothers of boys are stockpiling them for this very issue. I’ve frequently threatened to make them sit. It’s on the horizon. They shower daily—score for mom—but they leave their clothes scattered across the floor. It doesn’t matter what it is; nothing returns to their bedrooms. The next sibling just steps over the pile of damp clothes, which then turns into a soggy heap that I have to transfer into a laundry basket, praying it doesn’t leak all the way down the stairs.
And those stairs! That’s where everything goes to perish. Each day, I gather the clutter from the first floor and stack it on the steps, an effort that feels very June Cleaver of me. They would rather risk life and limb than pick anything up. They’ll traverse that mountain of shoes, books, and toys a dozen times before even considering to look down. Then they have the nerve to claim they can’t find their shoes. That’s when I start searching for the Xanax.
Shall we venture to the kitchen? Please, come along. Do you buy your cereal in those enormous boxes from Costco? I do, just so they can clutter my countertops. No one actually eats it, at least not in a bowl. Instead, they prefer to take handfuls and create a trail like Hansel and Gretel from the family room. They might even empty the box, but it certainly won’t make it to the pantry or the trash. Nope, mom’s brand-new granite countertops, which she waited five years for, are now completely disguised by General Mills. It brings her joy, truly. And the cherry on top? Leaving the milk out. You know, the milk they never used because they opted for dry cereal instead. She loves that.
Now, about my daughter. She’s four, so her responsibilities are fewer, but don’t underestimate her impact. Her room looks as if a tornado has swept through. And the dolls—oh my goodness, the dolls! They’re everywhere. Clothes, accessories, shoes—you name it. She has doll stands, but she prefers leaving them face down on the floor, resembling a chaotic scene. And if you accidentally step on one? You’re “hurting them.” She even has a wheelchair for her dolls, and I swear she’s put one in it because of the agony inflicted on my bare feet by those pointy doll shoes!
To be clear, I’m not a neat freak. My room has its own mess going on, but I’ll be damned if anyone tells me how to manage it. I’m 41! I can do what I want. You, however, are 10, and I’m tired of looking at LEGOs scattered all over the floor. Pick them up! Repeat after me: “I am your mother, not your maid!” (Leave out the “maid” part, because people might judge.)
My kids need to grasp the concept that my memory is like a steel trap. The day my mother emptied my brothers’ room, I stood in the backyard, watching everything float through the air. I saw her remove that screen, heard her ramble incoherently, and observed the grace with which she tossed everything out. I was ready for that moment. I learned from the best, and I know how liberating it must have felt to let it all go! So help me, if I find one more wet towel in the hallway, the whole neighborhood will know what those boxer briefs look like!
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Summary:
In this humorous reflection on motherhood, Samantha Reynolds shares her struggle with the mess created by her four children—three sons and a daughter. From bathroom mishaps to cluttered kitchens, she captures the chaos of parenting with a relatable and entertaining flair. As she draws parallels to her own childhood experiences with her mother’s epic meltdown, she’s on the verge of reaching her breaking point.
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Motherhood, Parenting, Family Life, Humor, Messy Kids, Household Chaos