The loss of a treasure equaled, in their eyes, the absence of a dear friend on vacation. Or worse, because that treasure was gone forever. In their eyes, I became an Ogre, belching fire as I tossed and sorted.
In any small boy's room, as most parents of boys know, there is a discrepancy in definition - garbage versus treasures. Every discovery and every possession is a veritable mine of treasures to a young boy's eye.
To a mother's eye, these treasures often mean something quite different entirely. I once discovered a dehydrated frog lovingly tucked away. I shall probably never know whether it was already in this state when it was so carefully placed there or whether nature stepped in later. For this lack of knowledge, I am eternally thankful since a certain degree of ignorance no doubt, helped me retain my sanity during my sojourn as the mother of five children.
Among other 'treasured' collectibles discovered was chewing gum covered in lint, orange peelings, chocolate bar and gum wrappers, broken crayons, hockey cards, prized broken toys, old game score sheets, special 'collector' rocks, reams of old art work, crumpled posters that couldn't possibly be parted with, and many an only sock, always lacking its mate.
The toy box was usually the receptacle for the above collectibles but was also home to pajama tops or bottoms, (never the whole pair), or one shoe or mitten. There seemed to be an unwritten law at our house against two of anything ever being in the same place at the same time. But I could always be sure that the second one would turn up when the need for it had passed, been thrown out, or been outgrown.
When cleaning my sons' rooms, I found it necessary to follow some very basic and simple rules: never, never, never do it while they are around. On one occasion, I didn't follow this necessary rule and after hours of wading and sorting, discovered that ninety-nine percent of these 'treasures' had found their way back to their original place. Those tearful pleas, 'But you can't throw this out, it's still good,' were difficult to ignore. The fact that its wheels were missing was of no consequence, it was a valued possession in the eyes of its owner.
And this one is the toughest of all. After I had sorted the 'extra special drawings' from the 'ordinary' drawings, they gathered up the reject pile and said, 'But Mom, I drew these for you.' I probably don't have to say what happened to those drawings. Yes! They were taped to the hallway wall, the fridge and the kitchen walls. I drew a line at the entrance hall however.
The second most important rule to follow was to never spread the job over two days. 'Attack when unsuspecting', was my motto. While they were still wondering what was happening, the task was complete. If this rule wasn't strictly adhered to, all that would be accomplished was that the room would be rearranged but relatively intact.
I was always disappointed that after hours of working my way through the jungle, the response was not, 'Heh Mom, thanks' as I might possibly have expected but instead was, 'Heh Mom, what did you do this for?' or 'Heh Mom, you threw out all the good stuff!'
I will however, leave you with this heartwarming thought. You have my word, as the voice of experience, that the room always reverted back to its original condition in less than a week, (whether I followed the rules or not). However, a particularly enthusiastic child could do it in less time than that.
The heartwarming part, you ask? I always had artwork taped to my hallway and kitchen walls so painting was never a requirement. The heartwarming part for other parents was the fact that it was taped to my walls and not theirs.
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