Household Hijinks: Operations of Laughter in the Chaos of Home
I woke up today with a sense of determination that would put even the bravest warriors to shame. Today was the day I was going to march to the front lines and take on my formidable foe - the mess and chaos that had been plaguing my 10-year-old son’s bedroom! But before I could engage in this epic battle, I knew I needed the right supplies.
As I sat down to enjoy my morning tea, I carefully crafted my list of ammunition, the tools, and the products that would aid me in this domestic skirmish. "Let's see," I pondered, "rubber gloves to protect my hands, a broom and mop to sweep and mop up the mess, a trusty shop vac to handle the debris, and a stack of rags for good measure. And of course, Pledge and room freshener to bring a sense of peace to the battlefield."
But then, a pressing question emerged - what about sustenance? This wasn't going to be a quick battle; it was shaping up to be an all-day affair. I knew I needed rations to keep me going.
As I began my quest for war rations, a noise from the other room caught my attention. Panic surged through me as I heard my adversary stirring. With lightning speed, I slammed the refrigerator door shut and scurried to conceal my secret weapons. In war, one must never reveal their strategic advantage.
I could tell that the moment of reckoning was near when I heard the telltale sound of a toilet flushing. I braced myself for what lay ahead, knowing that soon I would come face to face with my adversary. When he entered the kitchen area, I summoned all my courage and greeted him with a cheerful, "Good morning, honey."
His response? A noncommittal "Hmph." My heart sank as I realized he wasn't in the best of moods. This battle was going to be the toughest one of my life, and I was ready to face it head-on.
I went out to the garage to grab the first empty 50-gallon trash can I would need.
I knew my final placement was going to start World War III and I was prepared. As I dragged the trash can across the living room heading straight for the war zone you could see the terror my “50 gal” struck in my opponent's eyes as he was enjoying Saturday morning cartoons. He knew what was about to begin! He leaped up from the recliner and made a run to his room. I increased my speed and as we met in the doorway to his bedroom my “50 gal” slid out of control and about took him out!
“Nooooo!” he wailed at the top of his lungs blocking entry to his room. “I’ll clean it later Mom I promise!” ‘Yeah, how many times have I heard that before” I thought to myself. As any good general would do I ignored my opponent’s pleas of mercy! “Outta the way I ordered, I’m coming in hot!”
Entering the war zone I scanned the battlefield intently looking where I was going to put my “50-gal” for optimal debris disposal. Once positioned defensively I closed his bedroom door, turned the lock, and began my offensive.
Trash littered the scene like the aftermath of a wild toy tornado. It was a nightmarish scene, akin to "Toy Story Street's Revenge." I found school papers, crumpled and wadded into balls, that had taken refuge deep within the inky abyss of his school backpack. Books with pages ripped out and former intact plastic Kingdoms now lay in ruins.
I viewed once proud and intact G.I. Joe soldiers from Christmases past now lay in a state of disarray, their limbs scattered in a chaotic heap. This scene stood as a solemn reminder of the unpredictable and chaotic rule of the assortment of trucks and heavy equipment toys that my son possessed and played with.
With each fateful step, I entered deeper into my opponent’s tiny, hostile nation where the citizens were all made of hard plastic squares strategically placed for me to step on to foil my offensive. My objective; tiptoe through the maze of agony-inducing plastic landmines without screaming. Legos are an insidious form of foot-based warfare, where these seemingly innocent bricks morph into instruments of exquisite torment.
While I took a quick bathroom break, the cunning enemy managed to slip into the room unnoticed.
"Get back or I'll suck them up," I declared firmly, brandishing my Shop Vac wand like a weapon toward the treacherous minefield of Legos. “Mom, please stop cleaning my room he said, I’ll clean it myself!” Always the master manipulator I knew he was trying to pull another delay tactic. I had dreamt of this day, meticulously planned for it, and rehearsed the battle plan in my mind countless times. With the knowledge gained from previous reconnaissance missions in his room, I knew exactly how to orchestrate the organization. As I shook my head in determination, I thought, "No, sir, I will not be denied. Today is the day to seize victory! It's within reach!"
I could see tears of resignation welling up in his eyes. The defeat was near and it felt good! "Okay, Mom, but please don't throw away my stuffed rabbit," he requested. I gazed at him in disbelief and retorted, "You mean the rabbit with one missing eye, stuffing spilling out, and an ear that the dog chewed off?" I asked. I condescendingly patted him on the head and told him to go play, preferably outside.
The battle took eight hours and two fifty-gallon trash cans full of garbage. I unlocked the doors and walked out victorious. 💪Finally, his room was clean to my specifications! Before I could bask in my victory I saw my enemy dart out the front door to the trash cans and started to rummage through them. “You pull one thing out of those trash cans and you will go on water and bread rations for a week!” I said. He walked away dejectedly. “Let’s go to your room and see how you like it,” I said. I watched with keen interest as he entered the room, his face a canvas of emotions, his eyes taking in the sight of his impeccably clean and well-organized space. He walked solemnly over to each former "spider hole," meticulously inspecting every nook where he had stashed his precious belongings. A hint of frustration crossed his face as he began to say, "Where's my..." but he paused, realizing that if it wasn't in plain sight, it had likely met its fate in the trash. "Well, what do you think?" I inquired with a sense of pride. "Just look, you can actually see the comforter on your bed now!" However, his reaction didn't quite mirror my enthusiasm.
As I tucked him into bed later that night he thanked me for cleaning his room and said that he enjoyed having everything in its place because it was easier for him to find things. I told him I knew he would like it once he got over his initial shock. As General George S. Patton used to say “Accept the challenges so that you can feel the exhilaration of victory." 🥾💪
As I leaned in to give him a goodnight kiss, I noticed a hidden surprise beneath his pillow. Lifting the pillow revealed an armless G.I. Joe, snatched from the clutches of the trash can to live another day in Toyland Tidying.
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