Holy Crap!

It's been a month since I've gone upstairs to the boys' quarters. Literally-a month. I have made Mr B go only when absolutely critical. And when I question him about the condition of the quarters, he vaguely shrugs and acknowledges that "It needs a little work" (he's afraid I'm gonna ask him to muck it out!). I knew it was gonna be a real sh*t can up there and require a whole lotta mama-hollerin' (of the drill sgt variety), and I just couldn't work up the hutz-pah for it.

So this morning, I called the boys into my front room (known as the 'girl room') and sat them down and gave them a talkin' to. Mostly about visiting their great aunt and uncle and remembering their manners and how old people can't stand loud, fightin' chil'ren. No need trying to soften that reality. "They will NOT like you if you fight each other for the remote and the bag of chips! So stop it!" And they sheepishly agree to try and hold the line on tattle telling, bullying, shoving, and shrieking-upon pain of death (lil brother is glaring at big kid the whole time...biding his time...).

Next-I lay down the hammer: gotta clean upstairs before they can go. Which causes groaning and writhing that looks like they've been struck with a sudden case of African dysentery. "Hey! Enough of that! Look...I hate it too. But listen: I PROMISE that I will not yell at you (they shoot each other a look of disbelief). No matter how bad it is." We have NEVER done serious cleaning without hollerin' and threatenin' and near death experiences. So I understand their skepticism. All I can think is: Brace yourself, Effie...!

And laws ya'll, it was BAD. Actually WORSE than my fears. I had to stop and breathe heavily though my mouth for about 30 seconds to stop the cussing fit that nearly split my skull. But instead I cracked the whip and let the sweat drip. My shirt was wringing wet within minutes like I'd been out in the cotton field at noon. And then we got to lil brother's room... and there were LAYERS of crap piles upon crap piles... "What's all this CRAP doing piled in the corner!?!" I shriek. And from big kid's room across the hall, he says, "Uh-oh, once mom starts saying 'crap' it's gonna get BAD!" So I sent lil brother downstairs to get me an ice water (I really wanted the bottle of Absolut in the freezer), and dug in. Tasting blood in my mouth the whole time from biting my tongue...

So for this 5 minutes, the boy quarters are spic and span (mostly). Thank you, Jesus! Once I'm done writing this however-all bets are off.

Postscript: Before dropping the boys off at Uncle Joe's for their guy's night, I asked big kid how he thought I did on keeping my promise not to holler while cleaning. "Mom, you still have some improving to do. You yelled 'Holy Crap! three times." And I thought I did great-all crap piles considering. Besides-he shoulda heard what I didn't say...