Bag it up

I often wonder why I even tidy my house.

It takes what feels like forever to organize and put away and within mere minutes my littles have the place in flames.

It never ceases to amaze me.

I can not stand clutter. 

It literally gives me heart palpating anxiety.

Dramatic, I know.

I kid you not I have been known to shed tears over a disheveled  house.

Ridiculous?  Maybe, but don't judge...

Last night Collin shouted for me twice in the middle of the night for random reasons.  Let it be noted that I sleep on the first floor and he sleeps on the second story.  He feels it's necessary to scream my name in a ridiculously loud fashion in order for me to awake from my dreams.  Little does he know that I sometimes wake at the very sound of him turning over as the bed creaks above me.  His trumpeting calls are painful.

I hurdle the stairs with heart pounding and enter the pit.

I kid you not every single step I took was with curled toes and crippled legs as I fumbled over random whatevers...

Have you ever stepped on a lego?

Mkay you catch my drift.

You wonder what he needed?

A drink of water.

From the glass on his night stand.

Oy vey~

So now we are in the dark in the middle of the night and I am lecturing the boy in my raspy nighttime voice about how he will clean up this room in the morning.  I also reminded him, for the umpteenth time, that his 5 year old legs are very capable of  walking down the stairs if he needs something mid slumber.  Or better yet son, just reach over and grab the water yourself.  :)

So here we are today...

 I told Collin to pick up his room or I was baggin it up.

As in trash baggin.  That lit the fire.  

He obviously didn't think I was all that serious though because  when I told him the same thing about the playroom that he destroyed, he chose to watch tv instead.  He was reminded 3 times.

He chose to do otherwise all 3 times.

I gave him plenty o ~ time.

Plenty.

And then the clock ran out.

I didn't say a word.

I just walked in and started to bag all the toys that were scattered about.  He quickly decided he was now "ready to clean".

Mmmm sorry dude.

And the flood gates opened.

Crocodile tears.

Blubbers and snorts and all the other sounds that come from hysterical crying.

Very theatrical.
He may or may not have inherited that from his mom,
minus the blubbers and snorts of course~

While his performance was stellar it did not tug at my heart strings, well at least not in the manner that I imagine he was hoping it would.

Obedience is important.
Natural consequences can teach valuable lessons.

We won't be throwing away any toys.  I talked at length with Collin about his responsibility to care for the things that he calls his own.  We agreed that he can earn back his "bagged" toys when/if he shows me he can care for the things he has left.  Otherwise we will find a new home for his now hidden treasures.

I'm not asking anything of my son that God doesn't also expect from his mother.  He may not "bag" up my possessions but I wonder how often he has to withhold something from me as he patiently waits for me to clean up the junk and properly care for the blessings he has already so graciously given, undeserving as I am...

Are you anxious to see how this story ends?
Ya, me too...