MindSpinner

There’s been a great blustering going on in my son’s room - the room that’s always ankle deep, the room I’ve threatened to visit with a Bobcat to just scoop everything up and dump it out the window into a bin (if only the Bobcat could squeeze through the door). Things are being tossed, frustration has been vocalized. Finally, the occupant emerges from his den: “Mom, look at my room.”

I can see expanses of bare floor. Bags of trash have been removed. Clothes have been put in drawers. The closet is still knee-deep, but tomorrow is another day. The door closes.

“@$%&*! Everytime I turn around there’s more! This is @#$&* work!” The noise of this put here and that tossed there resumes.

I can’t stifle a giggle. How many times have I spent an entire day cleaning that room - not often enough, but when there’s a few days’ break from school? This could be the first time in my son’s life he’s owned the task of cleaning - really cleaning - his own room, of his own volition, in his own time. Seeing that bare floor is not exactly like watching him cross a stage to receive his diploma, but it’s good, it’s very, very good.