Aug 17, 2006 

Breathe.  That’s what I have to tell myself every time I walk past my daughters room.  We have been fighting over her lack of cleanliness for as long as I can remember and I’m done.  Telling her to clean, giving her a “How to Clean  You Room” list to follow and the many rewards and punishments I’ve promised haven’t worked.  She still keeps her room a pigsty. 

Yes, we all know I’m a bit on the anal side and clean to me may be something entirely different to you.  So tell me, are rotting apples in a bowl inside a sock drawer clean?  How about a extra large bag of birthday confetti open and spread all over  the floor?   Perhaps a dirty closest means something other than a stack of clothes, blankets, suitcases (still not unpacked from July), garbage, books, etc. over three feet high? Hey, maybe it’s just me but those are not signs of a clean room. Not in the house of Aspenson that is.  

You cannot see the top of her dresser.  You can see the garbage (which could easily have been thrown into the garbage can RIGHT NEXT to the dresser) and you can see the jewelry, papers, pens, markers and various other school supplies spread across it.   

After trying everything from giving her cash, taking her stuff completely out of her room and having her earn it back, to throwing almost everything away, I’m done. Over the whole thing. I close the door. But there’s a catch.  

In my family everyone is required to do certain things, to keep up their end of the responsibility ladder.  We keep our rooms generally clean (I like to be able to see at least parts of the floor and dresser tops…not  asking much, is it?), we share in the daily chores.  Nothing major.   Because we all participate in  these things, we all get certain privileges.  Things like, having our laundry done, having friends over, getting new clothes, games, etc.  So I made a deal with my daughter.   I’m not going to bother her about her room anymore.  She can keep it however she wants.  She doesn’t have to lie (I cleaned my room…and stuffed everything into the closet and into my drawers) and make promises she has no intentions of keeping (I’m going to clean my room) and I no longer have to listen to it all.  But here’s the catch.  She is no longer aloud the privileges that go along with keeping your room reasonably clean.  No friends over.  No new clothes, jewelry or anything that can go into her bedroom.  Oh, and no laundry done by the professional laundress, her mother.   

I’m hoping the laundry cleaning will become an issue.  We have a new washer and dryer and she isn’t able to reach the dryer nor can she work either machine without supervision.  And I’m sorry, but I just might be too busy to help if she ever decides to do her laundry.  She hasn’t yet.  My hope is that her clothes will be dirty and start to smell and a friend or someone at school will comment on it, embarrassing her into making a change.  Call  me mean,  call me cruel but I don’t care.  My consequences have yet to have any impact on this child.  She is more likely to change because of the natural consequences from her actions rather than mine.   

I’m not asking for perfection.  I’m asking she take responsibility for her things and respect them.  I’m asking she show the others in this home the same respect they show her.  She’s almost thirteen years old and it’s time to be more responsible.  

I’ve sat in her room while she’s cleaned (the right way) so I know she can do it.  I’ve given her cash to clean it a certain way, so there’s no question she can do it.  She simply chooses not to.  It overwhelms her, she says. So I’ve shown her ways to change that…close the drawers when you open them…throw garbage in the can…fold the shirt you decide not to wear and put it back in the drawer.  She knows what to do.  And now,  so do I.  

It’s not easy for someone of my anal retentive nature to walk by and see the pigsty.  Just thinking about it makes my head pound.  Hard.  But there is nothing else I can do to make my daughter realize her actions have consequences and that she’s in control of those actions.  Believe me, I’ve tried everything.