Navigate to Blog dashboard…. click Post –> Add New. Now, what to write.
I am enjoying a
jug glass of wine. I feel chatty. I would like to journal here a bit but, what to share?
Then it hits me.
I can tell you all about my phenomenal parenting skills put to work this weekend when I locked my son in his room and had him clean it for 5 hours straight!
I didn’t lock him in. He was in there willingly. But that is because I threatened to not return any “devices” (I love how I just have to yell “GIVE ME YOUR DEVICES!” and everyone panics. I have found their kryptonite people, and it. is. glorious!) until the room was cleaned.
So, I am gonna keep it totally 110% real here. Because being real and showing your faults in the motherhood and wife and general life department is cool and more awesome than being a fake jerk. And you may not judge me. (Because I said so. Or else I will cry. And judge you back, since I’m vindictive like that.) You may not judge me because the areas of my house that *I* am responsible for look absolutely nothing like this. Nothing. And I am very OCD about neatness and organization so most likely if I peek in your room and it looks like a tornado passed through, I will go in and clean it. Not because I want to, mind you. A force takes over and makes me do it. I might not deep-clean but I will at least pick up your crap and make your bed because looking into a tidy room keeps me sane.
Until I want to inflict bodily harm on you.
No really. I updated my Facebook on Friday and said “It’s all fun and games… until I want to cut you”.
When I looked into my son’s room late Thursday evening, THIS is what greeted me.
*viewer discretion advised*
I know, can you just gag? I feel like stabbing my eyeballs out with hot forks all over again.
I can’t believe I am even posting this pic. I hate myself right now. Remember, you can’t judge me. I asked nicely and anyway, 83 angels will die if you go back on your word.
There was even more grossness than this fuzzy iPhone panoramic pic lets on. It was all of this plus a basket of underwear and socks strewn about as if the floor needed more decoration. I shoved the basket back into the cabinet until I had a “WTF are you doing?” moment of clarity. This room was beyond my general tidying and I didn’t have a full day to dedicate to it. And honestly if I had the full day, I wouldn’t have done it anyway. This boy pushed the limit too far this time and my days are filled with awesomeness and glitter and Crossfit and taking pictures of every morsel of food that goes into my mouth and snuggling with my puppy. I don’t have time for this utter nonsense.
** Is it mean if I admit that I sometimes secretly hope that my son gets up and trips on this shit and tweaks an ankle?? (Notice I didn’t say break. I said tweak. Like, just enough to annoy him as he goes about his day).
I legit just shut the door on this disaster and texted my husband a few profanities. Misery loves company. Saturday morning, it would be time. Game on little boy. Game. On.
I am big on notes. And I type everything (I am big on notes + I am lazy). A lot of times if I look in my kids’ rooms and they look junky, I will type a note telling them what I expect cleaned. It’s kind of how I leave myself Post-Its on my desk to myself. The thing that needs to be done isn’t done yet, but just writing it down as a very visual reminder makes me feel better. I knew there was no way I was going to bed without total agita (agida?) if I didn’t get this off my chest. So I typed. And then I tape and hang my little love notes right where tiny eyes will wake to find them in the morning. I am loving like that.
A funny thing. I shared my note on Facebook and then, a lot of people started messaging me. Like, a lot, a lot. And they were all re-sharing my note and PRINTING IT and showing their kids and thanking me for this note idea. And I was laughing because it was just a private note I wrote to my kids (that I posted very publicly so I totally get why it was re-shared and hey, I welcome that) and now other kids in all the land were about to feel the wrath of their mothers through my words.
I mean, if you guys wanted to re-share the note, I totally would have made an editable copy so you could change the day of the week or the punishment or the signature even. “The Management” is so boring. I mean, you could go with something like “You Worst Nightmare AKA Mom” or even something as simple but striking as “From, Succubus”.
Sometimes I just pretend I am good at this whole parenting thing and people buy it. As such, I present to you the breakdown of a mildly threatening note left to your child. This is a foolproof plan. I present to you, How To Gently Threaten Your Child and End With A Clean House…. Like A Boss.
Or, Creative Writing With Gina, 101.
I realize some of my important notations may get lost on small phone screens, should that be your preferred method of reading. Fear not! I have compiled them in list form below.
- You could start with a “Dear” or even “To” opener but honestly, to hell with the niceties. You don’t want to start off too friendly. Get right to the point.
- Explain what is being taken away. Be clear with your words. Use CAPITAL letters if deemed necessary (they usually are at least once). This makes whatever word you are making larger stand out, thus appearing more important.
- Explain what you expect from sharing your well-worded note. Kids (and husbands) work best with specific instructions.
- Add a threat or two, for fun. Putting the text in blood red adds a little pizzazz. <– See? Pizzazz.
- Be courteous. But just once. So you don’t look like a complete monster.
- Give a deadline. There’s gotta be an end point to this crap.
- Make up a fancy signature but don’t add love. Remember, they’re on your shit list.
To drive home the effectiveness of my note and my creative letter writing techniques, I will share an after picture of my son’s room. It may have taken him 5 (6?) hours on a Saturday but this is what it looked like after:
And yes, I checked under the bed and the closets and everything is clean. Friggin’ CLEAN guys. I took this pic really just to text it to my friend at the gym with a caption that read “So you don’t think we live in filth…” I felt it was necessary after showing her the before. I still can’t believe I posted the before here or showed not one but two people at the gym Saturday morning. And now I have to Blog again soon because I can’t have this entry sitting at the top of my Blog for the next week. Lord have mercy.
The best part of the after picture? The poop emoji pillow on display that he bought at the Queens Hall of Science two weekends ago when he went on an extracurricular school event with the $20 I gave him for a souvenir. Because nothing says “I learned cool science-y things today!” like a smiling pillow of crap.
It’s as if I am just throwing my money away…
Someone wondered if it (‘it’ being my Dear Tiny Spawns of Satan note) would work on husbands or significant others. I don’t have the answer to that but uh would you report back to me please? I’m interested in the answer.
The moral of this entry kids, is that Mom wouldn’t have to slam it into turbo-bitch and hang threatening letters in your room and confiscate
your lifeblood your iPhones and Blog obscene dirty room photos that hurt people’s souls along with her mother heart and just generally get cranky if you would just. pick. up. your. shit. as. you. threw. it. down. Seriously. Clean up after yourselves, ya little dirt bombs.
(But if they don’t, there’s always “the letter”. Feel free to borrow at your leisure).
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