It has been a crazy week in our household. I set up a schedule for packing, as we will be moving in less than two months. I stress out over packing, so putting together a schedule helped quiet my crazy monkey-brain and silence my nightly dreams about being caught unprepared for the move. Because everything goes according to plan, right?
Consequently, this week I have been packing books. I am a book-a-holic. A bonafide bookworm. Books contain all my best friends. I rarely do not finish a book, and I frequently read my favorites until they fall apart. Books call my name - "Read me," they say, like the little cakes in Alice in Wonderland that were iced with the message "Eat Me". As a result, it is very difficult for me to pack them away. The old favorites, the new additions. I want to just curl up on my couch and get lost in them all. It has taken quite a bit of will power to pack the boxes I've packed this week. I only have a few stragglers left, as well as a handful of well-loved magazines, and the books will be finished. All the better, because I would be so much happier reading than packing. Less temptation, and more will get done in time for a smooth transition to the new house - where I can set up my bookshelves and get reading!
Also on my list for this week are our family photos, candles, movies, artwork, and various knick-knacks. There aren't that many of them, so that shouldn't take too long - I hope. I had planned to be finished with this week's list by tonight so I could move on to other, larger items on my list - the hall and bathroom closets, the desk in the corner of the kitchen that has become the catch-all for every stray piece of "where does this go?" for the last three years, independent of my attempts to keep it tidy.
This week, however, has conspired against me. Wednesday afternoon I get a call from My Dearest to let me know that a little grey field mouse had made it's way into the house and was now barricaded in the laundry room. When I got home, it was still in there, hiding under the hot water heater and dryer. We set the cat on it, hoping that she would at least help us trap it in the open. At least that worked - she chased it up a set of blinds that were in a corner, allowing us to catch it in a small trash can and take it back outside to release into the empty field adjacent to our back yard, the field it probably came from in the first place.
Shortly thereafter I received word that a dear friend was admitted to the hospital. Typically Wednesday evening is Practice night - I head to troupe practice while my husband watches our Princess. Bug heads to youth group with my mom. It's been this way for years. This week, I went to the hospital instead.
In addition, on Wednesday and Thursday the heater in my office at work was broken. Broken On. 93 degrees on Wednesday, and 90 Thursday. Both days it was nicer outside than it was in. Thursday evening I was so ill from the heat in my office that I couldn't go to dance class. I only packed two boxes, later in the evening when I had partially recovered from the nausea. The heat left me terribly exhausted.
So what? I could catch up on Friday evening. Dearest has headed to the racetrack to hang with his friends and watch some sprint cars. No big. Put a movie on, order a pizza for the girls (a rare treat in our house). Get packing. And then came the tantrum.
Every day this week, I'd asked Princess to pick up a few things in her room. Ten things at a time. She is six, after all. And so very good at being six. She admitted the other day that each time Dad or Mom have asked her to pick up her room at all, she just plays for a little while until she thinks enough time has passed. Well, duh. She IS six. So tonight, not taking any of that guff, I asked her yet again to pick up her ten things and put them away. While I watched. Usually I try to direct so it's not so overwhelming. You know the type - pick up all your shoes. Now your books. Now put all the clothes from the floor into the dirty hamper. Now put away all your dress-up stuff. Easy-peasy. And while she's picking up, I help and pick up several things, as well.
Being six, she was not having any of that. She started up with her usual mini-tantrum. After my week though, I had no real patience left. So instead of ten, I upped the total to 25 items. Still while I watch to be sure she's doing what she's been asked to do. Which of course upped the scale of the tantrum
Without a word, I snapped. Grabbed a laundry basket and filled it up with stuff off her floor. "Goodbye new roller skates (a birthday present only a few months old). Goodbye favorite book. Goodbye favorite dress-up dress. Goodbye Fluffy Puppy. Goodbye Princess Tiara. Goodbye favorite school dress." Just me, picking up her room, chucking it all in a laundry basket, and then a box, and then another box and then another basket, saying Goodbye to everything I picked up and threw in. She kept trying to grab things out of the boxes and baskets, of course. To which I very calmly directed her to put it back - some other little girl was going to really appreciate all of her things and maybe when she got new things she would be respectful enough to take care of them. And perhaps she doesn't need so many things. After I was done, there was not much left in her room. And a giant pile of "stuff" in the living room. Of course, by this time, she had completely melted down, and was in a puddle in the middle of the hallway. Thankfully, Dearest has experience with situations such as this - I am too far gone to even be reasonable trying to talk, so he does for me. He very calmly reminds Princess that I have warned her multiple times that I would take her things away if she didn't take care of them. And now Mommy is just doing what she said she would do. Perhaps, he suggests, if she helps get the items sorted and tidied up as she has been asked, she can earn her favorite things back again (like her brand new rollerskates and Fluffy Puppy).
As a result, instead of finishing up with this week's scheduled list items, I've spent all evening sorting out my 6-year-old's things. Again. I just did the same thing when I rearranged her room 3 months ago. We got mostly done tonight, and she did help. She even happily filled a box with toys she no longer plays with to donate. And now she's crashed in a pile of nap blankets on the living room floor. And I'm not worried about it - I can carry her to her bed without tripping over a giant pile of stuff.
Now to tackle the girls' closet.
