The kids have been having a rough time of it lately. At the beginning of the week I was in heavy communication with my son’s teacher. At the end of the week it was with his daycare. One final act of defiance in the classroom took away the birthday party he was supposed to attend on Saturday. Mouthing off to me got him some soap in the mouth. Slamming things around and yelling at me took all electronic devices away for a week. I warned him that the skateboard was next, and his mouth finally shut.

My daughter has been going through the hormonal outbursts of a preteen, her emotions changing in the blink of an eye. Her brother usually suffers the brunt of it, my daughter getting her aggression out by bullying him.

And me, I’m wondering how I’m going to possibly get it all done and have the serenity to not break them in half in the interim.

We’re all still transitioning into this new busy schedule, and shorter tempers have been an obvious result. But regardless, we all had jobs to do, and they still needed to get done. And I needed help from them. Friday night I sat both children down and talked to them about their anger issues, and how the whole household was being disrupted. The times when their outbursts erupt the most seem to always center around when they have responsibilities to take care of, cleaning being the worst. It’s almost like they are reading like a script, as the events following an order to clean go like clockwork….

Me: Alright kids, before you guys do anything else, I need all toys to be cleaned up in the living room and your bedroom is to be spotless.

Son: I thought today was going to be a fun day!

Me: It will be once everything is cleaned up. Now get to it.
Son busies himself with picking up one thing and going to put it away before becoming distracted by something shiny and stopping to inspect it.

Daughter: Come on! Start cleaning!

Son: I am cleaning

He moves to put the shiny thing in a toy bin that is still downstairs as if that was his plan all the time. The move has exhausted him so much that he then lays on the floor, stretched out as if the one move zapped all his energy. Daughter gives him a swift kick.

Son: Ow!

He starts crying bloody murder, holding his side and grimacing in pain. Huge crocodile tears are rolling down his cheek.

Son: Mom! She kicked me!

Daughter: Well, he’s not cleaning anything!

Son: I am too!

Daughter: No you’re not! You’re just laying there on the floor!

Son: Well I’m tired! We’ve been cleaning all morning!

Me: Both of you stop! Just get up and get that room cleaned up! I am giving you 5 minutes to have all your things out of this room before you go start on your bedroom. Now move it!

Both kids get up and start picking up as many things as they can carry so that they can make as few trips up the stairs as possible. As a result, the race up the stairs ends with a huge bang and the sound of toys dropping everywhere. Daughter and son are now both crying.

Me: What happened?

Daughter: He pushed me on the way up the stairs and I dropped everything.

Son: She got in my way on purpose!

Daughter: I did not!

Son: You did too!

Daughter: Did not!

And she shoves him against the wall. He gets angry and shoves his foot into her arm. I separate them before it gets worse.

Me: You, clean up all this mess on the stairs and just go clean the room. You, come downstairs and finish cleaning the living room.

Daughter: He gets the easy job!

Me: No he doesn’t. I’m making him clear the kitchen table and sweep the floor too.

Satisfied, my daughter happily resumes cleaning. My son, on the other hand, cries more as I lead him down the stairs and show him all the things that need to be cleaned. By this time I could have had all rooms cleaned by myself without their help. Son continues to cry as he repeats over and over that he can’t do this. I practically hold his hand as I continue pointing stuff out to him before finally picking up everything and putting it in a pile for him to take to his room. Daughter, in the meantime, has locked the bedroom door and will not let him in. So the only other option is to dump everything outside the door for her to clean up.

More fighting between them, more reffing from me, and finally the job is finished. The bedroom floor is clean in the center, all toys pushed to the walls of the room, all folded clothes to be put away now in the hamper with all the other clothes that previously littered the floor, the beds still in disarray with more clothes peeking out from the space between the wall and the mattress. The downstairs coffee table still is covered with papers and toys and pens and such. It is apparent that any toy that was small enough was shoved under the couch. The kitchen table was not touched, and remnants from breakfast are underneath, especially where my son had eaten.

Me: Good job! Thank you for cleaning!

…..

It has gotten to the point that I no longer have the luxury of finishing the cleaning for them and letting them skate just so I don’t have to deal with the storm. So this time I laid into them and let them know I was serious. I was already angry from my son’s antics at school and his behavior with me, and I let my daughter know she wasn’t off the hook either. This time dinner was on the line. They could either finish the job without fighting or they could eat cold cereal and go to bed early. And they knew I was not bluffing. I even threw in vacuuming. It was already late and they were famished. It was probably the worst time to expect anything out of them. But they moved quickly to get it done. Soon the living room looked amazing. My daughter even took it upon herself to clean up the kitchen table, giving us a place to eat. We sat down for our meal and they went to bed immediately afterwards.

The next day the living room was trashed again. And again I made them clean it up. Today I watched my friend’s toddler, so the room was torn apart. And I made them clean it once more. I even had my daughter fold laundry and start a load of jeans. Once they were in bed, I was able to sit on the couch and relax, the chores already done. What do you know? They can clean! And they can clean more than I’ve been giving them credit for! I sat back, moving my foot when it kicked something jagged. I looked down and saw a toy under the couch. Upon further inspection I noticed that every small toy that could fit under a couch was there.

Sigh. Baby steps, I suppose.

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