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Fate Intervenes by Carol Wells

History has a knack of repeating itself. Either that or there is some truth to the parental threat of "I hope one day your kids do to you what you have done to me ... just so you know what it is like"? Or just a humorous coincidence? Whatever it is, this story will help explain why the previous story about teen bedroom cleaning habits was shared ...

My oldest child turns 21 this month. "It seems just like yesterday when I first held her in my arms," sounds cliché even though it is true about how time zipped by, much too fast, as I reflect about the little girl she once was and the adult she is now. Hard to believe the two are one in the same.

Well, there are times I find it incredibly easy to believe - like each and every time I hear myself asking, "When will you remember the bath towels should be in the bathroom and not left in your bedroom." After almost daily reminders one would think the constant repetition would drill it into her brain that people call a bath towel a bath towel, versus bed towel, for a reason.

Speaking of her bedroom - chaos reigns supreme in there. Granted her younger brother isn't Mr. Clean® himself but, at the age of six, he could accurately describe his sister's room decorative style. He stands at the doorway to look in while mournfully remarking, "Oh dear, Mom, look at that mess!"

We don't ask if she knows where anything is at within that one room; given how often she asks us if we know where something of her's is at, we already know the answer. Which explains why she does not have a pet cat she often expresses a desire for. We told her we would consider the idea when her room no longer risks the government labeling it as a disaster area. My husband feels that it is in the cat's best interests if we did not have to worry about an animal unwittingly venturing into the section of our residence known as "her room".

I relayed to my oldest about the methods my parents employed to encourage my sister or I to keep our bedroom clean. "Do you think I won't do it," I asked her pointedly.

"No, I think you would do it," she sighed yet that knowledge failed to help provide motivation. Various promises made, like "I will do it on my day off" or the ever-popular "Later".

Back to her younger brother, for a moment, it appears "later" has him under its usage spell as well. We tell him to do something and he casually responds with "Maybe later." He has no more perception of what "later" is than anyone else in the household. "Later" is this mysterious frame in time when something will be done and one can only hope they will live to see "later" arrive. I can now relate to my parents' past frustration with that word.

The oldest child decided she would go to Indiana in March to visit family and friends there. We asked her to clean up the bedroom before leaving. After all, she was planning this trip two months in advance so plenty of time to pack and clean one room, right? However, the morning of departure dawned to reveal a bedroom awfully similar to how it looked when she initially announced her travel plans.

While she was out-of-state I carried out the threat of cleaning "her room". My frugal side limited me to throwing away damaged items or what was nothing else, in my opinion, but trash. Scattered articles of clothing collected, bagged, and set aside for laundering. Other items sorted and organized. I could not bring myself to simply throw away everything on the floor. Living in an apartment also worked in her favor as door hinges had several layers of paint. Removing the pins not be a simple process - then we would have to figure out where to store the door once removed.

My daughter arrived back home and gasped appreciatively at her clean room minus the collected 3.5 bags of trash. I had fifteen minutes to enjoy my efforts while she was home before she unzipped the suitcase and let its contents spill out onto her bed. As per her habit - these items promised to be put away "later". Then "later" became "bedtime" which signaled the skilled one-arm sweep routine to clear items from the bed onto the floor. I sighed while watching the carpeting disappear once more into the abyss.

By the next morning, less than 12 hours later, things were back to normal. My husband resumed the daily ritual of reclaiming the bath towel from "her room". By evening I was once again doing the maternal tongue clucking while asking, "Do you dislike carpeting in your room or is it not padded enough for your feet?"

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Cleanliness is next to impossible.
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I'm definitely a messy person... I know where everything is but I just can't organize. I don't make lists and find scripts on the laundry machine, and under my bed, or in the bathroom, kitchen. It's bad, I really need to take control.
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My idea of housework is to sweep the room with a glance.
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