Pigsty Playroom

I remember wondering why my mother periodically referred to our home as a "pigsty." I knew that was a place where pig's lived, but I couldn't really understand the correlation to our house, because there was no poop or mud covering the floor. I knew it was something she was passionate about, because of her tone and body language, but truly understanding what it meant, was foreign to me. Basically, it translated into: I have to stop playing.

Well, enter in my "mini-me" and our conversation about a month ago...



Me: Katherine, does this room looking like this not bother you?

Katherine: No.

Me: Well, it bothers me. I can't even walk through here without the fear of stepping on something and breaking it.

K: Don't step in here.

(Heavy voice inflection here)
Me: I don't WANT to, but you've been asking me where stuff is a lot lately and I know it's in this mess somewhere.

K: You can't find it in here?

Me: No, can you?

(Nathan dumps an entire bin of trucks on the floor)

K: No.

Me: Well, then it must be time to clean it up, because we don't live like this in this house.
(The dreaded statement all us mom's eventually resort to because we're trying to reason with an "infant" in the reasoning-department and heaven forbid someone actually see us live like this: mere mortals)

K: Why not?

(Frustration level rising)
Me: IT'S DISGUSTING! Bug's can very easily find a home in your baby's clothes. You can't find anything and I'm tired of tip-toeing around this room and mentally blocking it out because of it's horrid appearance!
(Throwing in the bug comment to appeal to her sense of gross-ness doesn't work. Bottom-line: kids are not playing in the playroom anymore. They've started dragging the mess out into other areas of the house because they can't maneuver around or find anything in the room either)

K: Can you help me find my baby's bottle?

Me: See? That's what I'm talking about! If this room were clean, you'd know exactly where to find it. Where is it normally kept?

K: In that purple bin with the other baby stuff.

Me: Thank-you. Let's start cleaning up. I've decided today, is clean-up day.

(In a pitch so high, dog's have a difficult time hearing it)
K: But I wanted to go to the li-bary and go see AC and then go to the playgrrrrrooooouuuuuunnnnnnddddd!

(Nathan trips over something and hurts himself. I take a 30-second break to console him)

Me: Maybe later, but for now, this room must be cleaned. I thought if I left it messy for long enough, you'd eventually want it cleaned also, but I guess not. Start picking up all the dress-up stuff and put it away.

(Lots of bantering back and forth about why, I don't want to, yes you have to now, but I wanted to go to the playground, maybe later, how about clean the room after the playground, it's time to now, why isn't Nathan helping, I'll give him something to clean up,outing, poochy-lip, etc.)

K: This room isn't that dirty.

Me: You don't think so?

K: No. It's pretty clean.

Me: That's enough trying to change my mind. This place is a pigsty so start cleaning.

The vicious mom-cycle continues...