Do your children listen to anything you tell them to do?
They do? Wow. Great for you. You can stop reading now.
My children, on the other hand, tune me out when I give them
any direction other than, “Time to eat!” All summer I have grumped around my
house muttering to myself about the ungrateful, spoiled residents who can’t be
bothered to pick up their rooms or put their dirty dishes in the dishwasher. As
I retrieved yet another abandoned sock from the center of the living room
floor, I flung it with all my strength and gritted my teeth but refrained from spewing
the obscenities that pushed at my self-control. With a weary resignation I grabbed the sock, which
is not very aerodynamically astute and lay next to my foot, and tromped up the stairs to the laundry
room.
I’ve grown tired of my angry, ranting self, as have my
children. Or they would if they heard me, but all three seem to have grown
permanent ear buds in their ears. Last week, when the stench of rotting towels
drew me to their bathroom, I reached my bitter end. The floor was strewn with
slowly mildewing towels and clothes lying in the flood left by the last bather.
The toilet had not been flushed (ew), the toilet paper holder hung empty, and
toothpaste frosted nearly every square inch of the counter that was visible
beneath the plethora of hair care products, abandoned flossers, wet washcloths,
and tubes of skin creams and make up. Ugh. Gross.
As I maniacally cleaned the bathroom, flinging dirty laundry
and empty bottles of shampoo, I searched for a solution. Withhold privileges?
Sit them down and explain my expectations and their responsibilities? Remind
them that they are not part of the royal family? But they don’t listen to
anything I say, I reminded myself. Finally as I sat on the edge of the tub,
scrubbing at the moldy grout, I was struck with a moment of brilliance. They
don’t listen to anything I say, but they read anything they see!
