Awhile ago, I read an article in which a blogger, in an attempt to encourage other mothers, posted several real-life, as-is children's bedrooms. The idea was to chase away the guilt and embarrassment mothers feel upon walking into someone else's neat, tidy, almost perfect home by showing that on any given day, everyone's house is a mess. They might tidy up for company, but show up unexpectedly and no one knows what horrors you might find...
The problem was, first of all, that the rooms shown were all nicely decorated. Don't get me wrong, I'd love for my children's bedrooms to be perfectly, thematically coordinated. We've just had other, more important things to do and on which to spend our time and money. I won't apologize or complain. It just is what it is. Despite the frenzied, haphazard decor, however, I have a sense of style. It may not be the most developed sense of style, but I promise it exists and sometimes cringes when I survey my surroundings. What little style has managed to sneak past those demands of life more pressing than home decor is well hidden under the evidence of life... laundry, books, papers, toys, and yes, that hideous pea-green recliner to which my husband is so attached. It - style, that is - is also not found in my children's bedrooms, as we have thought more visible areas should receive first priority. So, seeing cute children's bedrooms with a little bit of clutter on the floor wasn't all that comforting. It's like the pretty girl comparing a spot tea on her tan shoe to the pot of spaghetti sauce the ugly girl just spilled down the front of her white shirt...
At least that's what it feels like when I compare the photos in that article to (at least) one bedroom in particular. The bedroom in question is... is... there are almost no words to describe it. I guess the best way to put it would be that it doesn't look like a kid just forgot to put away a few of his toys. It looks like, on top of a kid forgetting to put away a few of his toys, a three-year-old came in, moved a few things around, pulled down a few shelved toys, dumped out of few boxes of toys, and then proceeded to chuck toys around the room. Actually, that's a pretty exact description - of what the room looks like and of how it came to look like that. (And no, I am NOT going to post a picture of that junk online to "encourage" other mothers. I have some pride!)
You might wonder why, if I am too embarrassed to show the room, I dare to write about the room. It's this: I need motivation to clean the room. Because I'm a little scared to go in there right now. With a sick kid, two boys engrossed in concocting a mud potion, and the opportunity of an educational field trip this weekend to compensate for any school we might not get done today, our school day has been relaxed enough that I've had a chance to seriously consider attacking the offending room. I've had pause to ponder the best approach... sweep, partition, toss, toss, toss... and what threats and promises I ought to make to rally the troops. I hope in writing this, I will give myself the necessary courage to begin a job which, once articulated, must be accomplished.
Wish me luck, and send a search party if you don't hear from me by day's end!
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