All-Out Cleanup, Family Style

by

Patti Dickinson

I love to do family-wide cleanups.  Much better than Mom-only cleanups.  I mean, we've got six times the manpower when all are engaged.  (Note: "Engaged" doesn't mean enthusiastic, or that the definition of "cleanup" is the same for all participants.) We are having lots of company for Easter. So I prepped the kids all week.  Told them what was coming on Sunday.  That way, when the actual day dawned, I didn't have to listen to a litany of excuses.  "I have homework", "My science fair project is due tomorrow, and I need one of those tri-fold boards and a glue stick" (and Hobby Lobby is closed on Sundays) or "I think I ate something that has me breaking out in a cold sweat and I am having some moderate heart palpitations."  This is what I've got to work with.

Cleaning day dawns.  Well, let me rephrase that.  Mid-afternoon dawns.  This is after a volleyball tournament that started with us leaving the house before seven a.m.  We pull in the driveway a little after two.  I know, a late start. Doesn't bode well.  

I am happy to report that the yard has been mowed.  Andrew and I had an agreement that I wouldn't bug him about mowing if it was done by Sunday.  I told him that he ought to check the weather forecast (he didn't) before he put it off to the last minute.  You know where this is going.  He mowed yesterday with a lot of wind (40 mph) and scattered sleet.  Good kid.  A man of his word.  

Inside, things weren't quite so wonderful.  I could hear the gentle echo of Mario Cart.  Two horizontal bodies camped out on the couches.  Chocolate milk glasses on the table, and a buffet of snacks (I am known neighborhood-wise for the good snacks we have at the Dickinson house). Ohhh boy.  I have my work cut out for me.

Well -- we got it all done.  Big yellow trash bags coming down the stairs and being carried out. You don't even want to know the before picture of those rooms.  But we pulled together and got the job done.  Of course I am paying for that today.  All the clothes that were on the floor of their rooms hit the laundry basket at the same time.  

 

Truth be told, the shoes in the middle of the entry hall, the papers on the refrig, the piles of clean clothes stacked, by-kid, in the laundry room (which is a "first floor" dresser), the toothpaste globs in the bathroom sinks, and the seven different bottles of shampoo on the shower floor are tangible signs that a lot of good living happens around here.