That's the word you'll hear very loudly around here today. As we are enduring our long 65 degree winter, I decide it's time to clean Rowan's room. This is always met with crying and whining and begging. Because after all I am throwing away her identity in some small way.
Spring cleaning her room involves 1 large garbage bag, 1 bottle of cleaner, and 1 cleaning towel/cloth. This is the point where Rowan starts to get nervous. I tell her to stay out of her room because I am cleaning. In the corner of my eye I can see her furtively "rescuing" an armload of toys from the hideous gaping mouth of the trash bag.
When I clean her room (or any room for that matter)it involves starting in one corner and wiping down everything. Then comes the bad part. I pick up and inspect EVERY SINGLE ITEM. I'm looking for any rips, tears, breaks, dirt, missing pieces. I ask myself, "does she play with this anymore?" If there's any defects or missing pieces it goes in the garbage bag. If it's just something she doesn't play with it goes into a donate pile. I have to watch that pile very closely or a devious child will sneak back in and try to give it a second chance.
This is about the time I start hearing, "Momma don't throw that away. It's miiinnnee." Really? You need this? This old broken McDonald's toy that's a boys toy because they were out of the girl's toys that day that you don't even play with because it might go up in value to what...negative five cents? Oh yeah, we let her eat McDonald's. I have to. It's in my contract under "sucker clause." She gets one bad meal a week and I get to throw her toys away a few times a year.
Luckily we made it through another cleaning spree. She's getting better at accepting her fate. It makes more room for new toys.
And I didn't have anything else to write about today.