IKEA for Dummies

Last night, I was entirely too weak of mind, body, and spirit to write a blog post.  I had to concentrate on my recovery before I could put it into words...

Yesterday, I took my children to IKEA.

If you are unfamiliar with this magical wonderland that is a home store, then please, PLEASE, take the time to go there.  The whole place is a maze of furniture showrooms, a home decor marketplace, and has just enough of life's practical items (light bulbs, band-aids, umbrellas, chocolate...) stuck in random places to make it absolutely necessary to explore the entire store each time you go...lest you miss any magical bargain that you cannot possibly be expected to continue living without, but didn't even know you needed.  There is also a cafeteria on the second floor, should you need nourishment in order to continue shopping.  Do you hear what I am telling you?  A store that provides a refueling station for power shoppers = an A+ establishment in my book. (OR an oasis for when you get so lost that you can't carry on looking for a way out until you get your blood-sugar back up...whichever, really.)   You will love it - unless you absolutely hate it.

My hubs WANTED to hate it.  You see, he is a custom woodworker; and in previous years I was not allowed to even consider making a "fake furniture" purchase from such a wicked place.  I changed his mind by making him go there with me - holding a list of things I wanted him to build for me.  I added up how much it would cost me to buy the "fake" furniture.  He added up how much it would cost him to make me the "real" furniture (materials plus time away from actual paying jobs... apparently my undying love does not translate to cash).

We left the store with several flat packs, and he didn't even complain about putting any of it together with fine print, Swedish directions.

Back to yesterday:

Plan A was for me and the 4-year-old to go to IKEA, retrieve a "big girl bed" for the 2-year-old, and have Nana (my mother-in-law) keep little sister while we were gone.  We scrapped Plan A for Plan B - all four of us going together.  "It will be fun," we said.

I should have taken heed of the many warnings that morning - the day would NOT go according to any type of plan.

1. The hubs decided that I was to drive his truck.

2. The hubs decided that his truck needed a dozen different fluids AND air in the tires in order to be considered suitable for me to drive.

3. The hubs decided to drive his truck to work, then have me pick it up on the way, so he could be especially sure that it was indeed performing no less than was his standard for my trip that day...whatever that was.

4. I went into the girls' room to wake them up and get them ready.  I discovered that the 2-year-old had taken her diaper off during the night, and the entire bed was soaked with pee.

5. I gave both kids a bath...while they screamed (and I think cursed) about the injustice of being transferred from the bed to the bathtub.  ME waking THEM in an unpleasant manner?  The nerve.

6. I washed the girls' pajamas, sheets, blankets, pillows, stuffed animals, and mattress cover.  So much for getting all the laundry done the day before (The Life Cycle of Laundry).

Fast forward: we overcame the odds, we're in the car, we're going to IKEA.  It should have taken an hour and a half.  It took 3+ hours.

1. There was traffic.

2. My GPS kindly offered to reroute us around the traffic. "Yes, please!" It took us many interesting places....and then attempted to put us BACK into the traffic.

3. I caught sight of the still-backed-up traffic, said "Oh, Heeelllll no," whipped the truck around, and got the heck out of there.  It was way less "007" and way more "You can't make me go back there!" than I probably realized.  I can't really be sure, however, because I was extremely distracted by my mother-in-law screaming, "We're going to die!" and  "I see the light!"

4. The kids slept ZERO on the way there...and we arrived promptly at what WOULD have been naptime.

And yet we entered the store anyway.  I thought I was prepared with coloring supplies, snacks, toys, drinks... They got bored with the snacks, wanted different drinks, hated the toys, and were disgusted with my coloring supplies.  They DID want to run, jump, climb, argue, cry, make insane demands ("Buy me this office chair!")...and expected ice cream on the way out.

I think I mostly kept my cool.  By that I mean I didn't beat anyone, I didn't yell, I ignored most of the little stuff, and we all came out alive.  I'm not entirely sure why I thought taking my 2-year-old that likes to scale tall dressers, balance on one foot on the seat of exercise bikes, and dance on kitchen counters to a huge furniture showroom store was anything less than asking for it, so really, I blame myself.

The ride home was another 3+ hours. More traffic, more wonky GPS directions, more crying, more bickering, more insane demands ("I want to blow bubbles!") and lots of rain to boot.  It wasn't ALL terrible though.  I got to hang out with my mother-in-law (although she probably needs counseling after the day we had combined with 6+ hours of my driving).  I got to listen to my babies sing their ABC's and count their 123's in the backseat (even if my helpful suggestions of including certain omitted numbers or letters was rejected - "I am counting MY numbers, it is not your business.")  We talked and laughed and played a silly game of how many different funny voices we could say "I love you" in (I think we were getting delirious at that point). 

Getting home was still a sweet relief, however.  Well, until I realized that the 4-year old had fallen asleep and had an accident in her car seat, the 2-year-old had a fever....and I had a headache.

More baths, more laundry, and then sweet, glorious bedtime.

God made Moscato for days like this.  Amen.

♥M

GO TO SLEEP! (Please. I love you.)

When did bedtime turn into such a debacle?!  We had an established routine (of sorts) that occasionally got wonky, but lately...

Tonight has been one for the record, though.  The hubs and I have begged, pleaded, threatened, bribed, and made all kinds of absurd statements in an effort to convince those monsters (I mean, angels...) to GO TO SLEEP!

First we had to convince them to get in the bed.  No, we are not watching Frozen again.  No, you are not hungry, you just had a snack.  No, you cannot sleep in our bed.

Then I had to go into their room repeatedly for the following reasons:

1. To break up a fight over who gets to be Queen Elsa and who gets to be Princess Anna.  I'm positive that Daire doesn't even know the difference, and she was just antagonizing her older sister.

2. To comfort Jace from a nightmare that I know she was completely fabricating as she had NOT fallen asleep yet. (And still hasn't.)

3.  To confiscate a Lalaloopsy doll from Daire in order to stop Jace from screaming,  "SISSY HAS A TOY SISSY HAS A TOY SISSY HAS A TOY."

4. To turn the night light back on because they turned it off.

5. To AGAIN explain why they could not sleep in our bed.  The hubs tried to get creative here, and told them that they had to pick between sleeping outside with our two cats in their cat house, or indoors in their comfy-cozy bed.  This backfired horribly as they promptly chose the cat house.  He walked them to the front door and opened it....then they cried and had to be convinced that Daddy was NOT, in fact, really making them sleep outside, in the dark, with the cats.  THAT will fun to explain when they tell their version of that story at the babysitter's tomorrow.

Then there were the things that they got of the bed and came into the living room for:

1. Daire walked into the living room, selected a puzzle from the bookcase, and sat down in the floor to play.  "What, this isn't cool with y'all?!"

2. Jace got out of bed THREE times...to tattle on Daire for getting out of the bed.  Hmmm.

3. They both got out of bed to come and request an additional viewing of Frozen - AGAIN - and AGAIN the hubs tried to get creative.  "Look - if you just get in the bed and stay there, I will give you a gummy bear." A desperate plea made by a desperate man.  "Where are you getting gummy bears?!" I asked, alarmed by this promise.  "WE DON'T HAVE GUMMY BEARS?!" His eyes turned mad and I feared for his sanity.  "No, I used those to bribe them in church yesterday!"  We are both panicking at this point.  He pulled it together, though, and didn't let the pressure break him.  "Wait! I think there are M&M's somewhere!  There have to be! Here they are! Who wants an M&M?!"

The next time they got out of bed, I started talking spankings and counting to 3.  I saw flashing pajamas and heard the door slam as they scurried back to their room.  I know they are still awake because I can hear them in there giggling...no doubt plotting their next move.

Hopefully they fall asleep plotting, because I need to recharge before they show up in my room at 3am.  This is their most diabolical move, because they know that at that hour we are too tired to discuss spankings or M&M's.  The hubs grabs his pillows and excuses himself to sleep in the twin bed that his feet hang over the end of, and I fall asleep either hanging onto the edge of our bed for dear life, or with both kids on top of me, like a little pile of puppies.

Oh well....I suppose that these are the things people say they miss when their kids get older.

If it's not, then please don't tell me because that's what I'm telling myself.

♥M

Space Wars

Why do married people have to live together?  I mean, who started that?  I get sharing a house, I suppose, but a ROOM?!  It's too much.

I used to think that the hubs and I just needed more space.  If we had a bigger house, we could spread out more and fight less about what to do with each inch of wall space, what angle each picture frame should be at, and where I am or am not allowed to place a clock. 

Then I realized...it's not the house.

We are both very affected by our environments.  We agree that knick knacks are the devil, and antiques make us itchy.  That's where the similarities end.  Agree on a paint swatch?  Never.  Pick curtains out together?  Please, God, no.

This is what the hubs wants the house to look like:

I could be exaggerating, but I'm not entirely sure.  He doesn't like anything on the walls, floor, or taking up space.  This eliminates decorations, furniture, and pretty much all signs of life, sooooo....

 

 

This is what I want the house to look like:

Despite his accusations, I am neither tacky nor driven to cover the walls with nail holes.  I might get tired of those white walls, though....

 

 

It doesn't really matter WHAT we want, though, because this is what the house actually looks like:

Ok, it's not THAT bad...but that's what it feels like sometimes.

 

 

So really, it's only ever pointless (for now) to ever argue about what WE want the house to look like.  The kids took over.  All of the stuff that I begged to hang on the walls is gone and there are pictures of them hanging up now.  Everything that was on our living room bookshelves is in boxes in the attic - it's full of toys now.  (THEIR bookshelf was already full of THEIR books, duh.)  Our coffee table drawers have puzzles in them now...I don't even remember what I kept in those.  Our DVDs are in the attic and have been replaced with Disney movies and Baby Einstein.  My scrapbook gear got packed up and my craft drawers are full of Hello Kitty coloring books, safety scissors and scented magic markers. 

 

The joke was on us. 

 

One day, however, there won't be Barbie shoes to step on in the hallway, Legos sticking out from under my refrigerator, doll clothes in the laundry hamper, or crayons melted on the heating vents.  And I will miss those things.  I will look around at all of my "grown up" stuff that is now safe from being destroyed, used as weapons, or causing safety hazards... such as anything glass, scented candles, anything with batteries or moving parts, decorative items that cost more than $5.00... and I will sigh wistfully.  I will wish there was a sticky spot on my entertainment cabinet to wipe away, puzzle pieces in the floor to pick up, or a hula hoop to trip over by the front door. 

 

I suppose I shall find comfort in still having the hubs around to argue with.  We can revive the traditions of going behind each other and moving things on a shelf an inch to the left, throwing away ugly rugs when the other one isn't home, and lamenting over the drawer handles being a stainless vs. brushed nickel finish to our hearts content.

 

♥M

 

Kids' Checklist for Leaving the House

You may have a mental checklist for leaving the house, but the kids have their own...

Kids' Checklist for Leaving the House:

-Remove at least one article of clothing after Mom dresses you, but before making it out of the door.

-Spill something (preferably a liquid, and preferably on your clothes).

-Take your socks and shoes off.

-Demand a band-aid for an injury that is only visible to your eye.

-Insist that Mom applies any and every beauty product that she is putting onto herself, onto you as well (makeup, deodorant, lotion, etc.)  You know she is only pretending to put it on you, but the point is to slow her down, so you are satisfied with the facade. 

-Hide something (keys, wallet, cell phone, etc.), but claim you haven't touched it.

-Pack 3 bags of random crap that you obviously NEED, then lay in the floor and cry until Mom gives in and lets you take at least one of them along.

-Take your socks and shoes off.

-After walking down the stairs of the front porch, realize it would be much more to fun to hop down them.  Go back and hop down them, no less than 3 times, in a variety of hopping-styles.  Insist that Mom rate each type of hop, and choose a favorite.

-Insist on waving and saying goodbye to the cats on the porch, the dog in the yard next door, the squirrels in the trees, the birds on the powerline....  Encourage your sibling(s) to participate as well.

-Prove your strength by breaking multiple sticks in the yard, on the way to the car.  Demand that Mom watch you break each stick, and commend your strength each time.

-Collect rocks from the driveway. Insist that they must be taken with you.

-Take your socks and shoes off.

-Claim that you left something in your room that you absolutely cannot and will not be expected to leave behind.  If Mom takes you back inside, choose a random object that you haven't played with for at least 3 weeks.

-Announce that you are both hungry AND thirsty, after you have been buckled into your carseat.  If Mom produces food and drink from her bag, insist you don't like whatever she has packed and therefore cannot possibly be expected to consume them.

-Take your socks and shoes off on the way to wherever you are going.  Lose one of the socks.


Sound about right?

♥M

My Daire-Devil

Anyone with more than one child knows that it is more than just possible for the same two parents to bear children that are polar opposites, it almost seems inevitable.  The hard part is recognizing their differences in such a way that you don't actually "compare" them and end up turning it into a list of pros and cons for each one.  ALL kids are different...some of their differences just stand out more than others. 

We named our second daughter Daire without even knowing what a huge joke it would turn out to be.  When she starts school, I can only imagine how many "I dare you..." jokes there will be.  And how many trips to the nurse's office will result from them.  I have no hope of her being the kind of  kid that turns down a good dare...

She was the infant that I had to literally wrap onto my body with a baby sling in order to use my arms for anything, because she insisted on being moved around, at all times.  She was the baby that was full-on crawling by 6 months old, and walking around at 9 months old.  (I was actually embarrassed to tell people how old she was when they asked because I could tell they thought I was lying every time.) 

Running and climbing were tasks whose mastery she took very seriously, and still fine-tunes her technique of around the clock.  I have pictures of her dancing on the kitchen counters, hanging from curtain rods, and standing on the entertainment center to push the buttons on the T.V.  All of those things happened in the time it took me to turn around and back again.

She's the kid who falls down, skins her knee, then pushes you off, annoyed by your comfort and attempts at first aid.  She's busy and doesn't care that the blood is dripping down onto her white socks while she runs off.  That's YOUR problem, later.

She's the kid that tells strangers "HI!" in the grocery store, will bite you if you don't pay attention to her as quickly as she would like, thrives off of having an audience, and has no limit when it comes to what she will do for a laugh. 

She's the kind of kid that strikes fear in the heart of pediatric professionals, made my dad suggest inventing an Adderal dart-gun, stopped me from judging people who use those "kid-leashes," and caused the baby-sitter to think about adding a padded room.

We've made a few feeble attempts at domesticating her.  We tried dance.  Once.  A breakdown of Daire's first (and only) dance class: 

First 15 minutes = Sat in my lap, just soaking it all in. (Ok, she's being calm!)
Next 30 minutes = Halfway participated, explored the room a little bit. (Hmm, this could actually work out!)
Last 15 minutes = Wild, heathenistic, demon-possessed behavior similar to that of "Animal" from the Muppets. (WHAT was I thinking?!)

I stood confirmed in my original theory that there was wisdom in holding off on domesticating her through the art of dance until next year.
I have been beating myself up for a while about how we never took Daire to get pictures taken for her first birthday.  Then last Saturday, we took the girls to get their pictures taken - and I was like "Oh, yeah...THIS is why we didn't go last year."  We did get a handful of really cute pictures, but at the expense of major trauma for all involved.  Daire shook all of the lighting poles violently, licked all of the glass walls repeatedly, climbed the photographer's ladder (with the photographer still on it), threw all of the props (a hysterically funny game to her, by the way), and had to be chased as far as the shoe department of the mall store we were in (then hauled back kicking and laughing) - twice.  By the time we left, the photographer was probably scripting a letter of resignation in her head and trying to decide where she would go first after work, to pick up a job application. 

Right now, you probably think that I'm complaining.  I'm not!  Daire keeps me laughing, active, jealous of her energy - and I would never trade her or change her for ANYTHING.  She is perfect and beautiful and healthy....and she marches to NO beat but her own.  When I look at her, I smile and wonder what kind of HUGE things she will accomplish one day with all of that determination, tenacity, and "Daire-devil" spirit.  Until then, I will just keep chasing after her with band-aids and ice packs...and maybe a big net, too.  (There's a thought...)

My only regret is that we don't have a reality show, so that I could at least cash in on all of the chaos.

♥M

Stop, Drop, and RUN

When my kids are actually playing well together, entertaining themselves, and so involved in whatever they are doing that they are not demanding my services...I take advantage.  I sneak off to load the dishwasher, throw some clothes in the dryer, open the mail, get dinner started...you get the idea.  All moms, however, have a super-sense of hearing that is fine tuned to pick certain, distinct sounds that are specific to your own offspring and their particular brand of shenanigans.  These are the things that set my Spidey-senses tingling and make me stop what I'm doing, drop what I'm holding, and RUN to prevent disaster. 

Sounds That Make Me Stop, Drop, and RUN:

1. The toilet flushing.  Hearing the toilet flush does NOT necessarily mean that someone went to the bathroom.  It COULD mean that you need to call a plumber A.S.A.P. because of whatever thing someone just attempted to flush.  Past examples include: toothbrushes, the cat's food dish, a shoe, puzzle pieces, etc.

2. Paper ripping.  Could be a coloring book page and no biggie.  Could be my checkbook, family photos, or the water bill.  It's best to find out quickly.

3. Beeping noises.  Specifically the ones that sound like they are coming from the washer, dryer, dishwasher, ice maker, or my cell phone.  Kids + expensive appliances = NO.

4. Chair legs scraping the floor.  If you need a chair to reach it, in 99% of the cases, you are not supposed to have it.  Intervention is necessary...immediately.

5. "I found my scissors!"  Yeah, I'm going to need to be in the same room as you when you're cutting stuff.  I know I'm a buzzkill and all, but I have to insist on regulating WHAT you cut, sorry.

6. Cabinets and/or drawers being opened/closed.  You BETTER not be pulling stuff out of your dresser for your fourth wardrobe change of the day, drawing on yourself with lipstick you got from my makeup drawer again, or pilfering through my jewelry box to "borrow" things AGAIN - because I'm headed your way to find out.

7. "That's not food!"  Big sister liking to boss little sister comes in handy here.  When I hear big sister yell that, it usually means that little sister is sampling the play-doh or eating another tube of chapstick.  Insert clever distraction for toddler *here.*

8. Diaper tape being undone.  That ripping sound that the diaper tabs make when you pull them loose?  Very distinctive.  And very much a reason to investigate. 

9. "Look at me!"  Could be a "Look at my princess dress and high heels" kind of cry.  Could be a "I just stacked all the plastic drawers from my kitchen set into a platform and am about to jump off and land on my head" kind of cry.  Clarification is important.

10. Silence.  This is the worst.  The most dangerous noise of all.  Silence is NOT golden when kids are playing in their room.  They could be playing quietly....but they are NOT.  They are avoiding detection and you need to investigate the second you hear the dreaded sound of nothing.

And now you know why my sink has dishes in it and my clothes never make it farther than the laundry basket in the corner of my room.  I'm way too busy with my side job as an investigator to keep up with the housework too.

♥M

Terrible twos...threes...fours?!

Why do two-year-olds get such a bum rap?  The phrase "terrible twos"  is just inaccurate.  For one thing the "terrible" behavior starts well before 2 years....and it definitely lasts longer than 3. 

I have to tread lightly when complaining about my kids and the stuff they say because it's not like I can blame it on anyone else.  Between the hubs and myself there's no hope for them to escape their genetic predisposition to eventually mature into some curious combination of sass and smartass.  Usually, I get a real mirror check by way of hearing something outrageous cross their lips.  (Jace to her sister: "You are acting straight up ugly!  Carry that to another room, girl!"  Daire to Jace: "I'ma get you BUTT!")

I'm so used to the dramatic scenes of these two tiny females that sometimes, even in the midst of full-on hysteria, I can maintain a single train of thought about whatever it is that I continue doing.  Now, before you think I'm totally heartless, I'm not talking about when they are physically or emotionally hurt.  There's a big difference between being hurt and having a tantrum.  Boo-boos get kisses and hurt feelings get heart-to-heart talk-time (on a preschool level....this usually involves 4-5 interruptions of "Hey, guess what?" before we're "done".)  Tantrums get squat except me stepping over you to go about my business.

A good example would be this morning-  Daire wanted my makeup while I was getting ready for work.  I told her no.  She cried.  I offered to put lip gloss on her.  She threw herself in the floor.  I offered to let her put the lip gloss on herself, but would only relinquish control of the applicator, not the actual tube of lip gloss.  She smacked the applicator from my hand and rolled around in the floor.  I picked her up and put her in time out.  She went limp and slid from the chair, into the floor and lay, spread-eagle, sobbing uncontrollably in the hallway.  30 seconds later she was back in the bathroom, doing pull-ups on the vanity and knocking whatever she could reach off of the counter.  I picked her up and put her back in timeout.  She flung herself face first out of the chair, into the floor and kicked her tiny legs until her shoes flew off.  The whole thing lasted a good 20 minutes and not once did she stop screaming at an unearthly decibel, "MY MAKEUUUUP!"

That, my friend, is a tantrum.  What. Is. The. Proper. Response. To. THAT.

I'm always reading these mommy articles, blogs and books looking for parenting advice.  I mean, my kids are awesome, but they do a lot of crap that makes me go "wonder how to fix THAT."  Y'know like TANTRUMS.  Let me tell you what TICKS ME OFF about all this great parenting advice - it sounds good until you use it.  Be real people, ALL kids are different and mine - yeah, they aren't following the little scripts that you wrote out for us to follow.  For example...

Advice: If your child does 'A' then you should respond with 'B.'  They will then do 'C' and everyone will be happy and bake cookies and play in a spotless playroom just like the one in the picture at the top of this article where the mom and kid are laughing together from having solved all their differences amicably and butterflies are coming out of everyone's butt.

Real life: My child does 'A' so I respond with 'B.'  Then they do 'G,K,L,Y,' and say 'V,R,W.'  Now I'm trying to figure out what page all of that is on and what I did wrong with my application of 'B.'  No cookies, no playroom, and no butterflies.

What IS the proper response to tantrums?  I mean, I guess I could prevent them by... I dunno, always letting them have their way, but I'm not really down with that... for a lot of reasons.  I'm more of a, "Hey, go cool off and get back to me" kind of mom.  But is that effective?!  I mean, my oldest is almost 4 and she regularly has these PMS-type emotional outbursts. ("How could you offer me Kix cereal instead of Honey Nut Cheerios?!  I will NEVER be your best friend AGAIN!!!"  Cue dramatic flop onto her bed and sobbing.) Sooooo.....does this just last until they're like, 30 years old?  Or is there a break somewhere between 5 and 13?! 

This is one of those nights where I call my mom and apologize for my childhood transgressions.


♥M

Never Say Never

Have you ever started a sentence with, "My child will NEVER (fill in pre-conceived notion of what would qualify as abhorrent here)?"

What no one tells you is, just by saying such a thing, you have pretty much cursed yourself with exactly that.  The moment such utterances escape your lips, you are doomed. I call it the "Judgey-McJudgerson Curse."  Why? Well, because the reason you said it is that you just saw it happen!  And what did you do? You judged. (Gasp! The shame! I would never do such a thing! Oh, wait...I have.)

Great job. Now YOUR beloved offspring will be the one knocking crap off of the shelves in the store, back-talking you in front of your friends, refusing to say "please" when requesting something, biting another kid at daycare, getting hurt doing something dangerous that didn't SEEM dangerous until they got hurt... Tsk tsk. And it's all your fault.

Or is it? Could it be that kids are just genetically designed to push our buttons? To wreck havoc on our patience until we lash out with some ridiculous ultimatum or consequence?  Or do they teach us that maybe we DON'T know everything about everything and CAN'T predict how we'll react in a given situation...until we get there?  Do they make us pause and think, "Maybe that kid's mom is just as embarrassed as I would be if my kid did that...?"

Nah. They eat cheerios out of the couch cushions and get their heads stuck between banisters.  THEY couldn't possibly teach US anything...

Right? 

♥M

Woes of the Working Mom...The House!

One day.  I've been back to work one day. 

Today was my first day back to work post-holidays, and the initial thought that popped into my head when I got home, unlocked the front door, swung it open, and surveyed the ruins was "Oh my God. It's like Goldilocks has been here...with all of her sorority sisters."  Someone left dishes in the sink (but I just washed dishes last night?!)  Someone left dirty clothes in the bathroom floor (but I did laundry all weekend?!)  Someone left toys strewn across the living room, crayons dumped on my nightstand, stuffed animals piled under the kitchen table, some interesting "make-up art" on the bathroom cabinet, and half of my jewelry spilled in the floor under my jewelry box.  The whole house is like a crime scene, frozen in time; the remnants of what "went down" this morning while I accomplished the super-human feat of getting ready for work with and almost-2-yr-old an almost-4-yr-old running wild off of their early morning energy surge. (They did NOT get that from me.)

What amazes me most is that they are ABLE to create such destruction and chaos in their environment.  The oldest is about 40 lbs. and the youngest about 30 lbs.  So, you're talking like, 70 lbs. of kid total - that can produce up to 10X that weight in straight up MESS.  It is indicative of their species to be messy, loud, and rambunctious, yes.  However, it's almost as if my children are in constant training for some "5RM Trash-a-Houseathon" that I've failed to be aware of. 

I've tried charts, threats, rewards (OK, bribes), and all kinds of begging and pleading.  There has got to be a way to keep the house clean and not feel like a nag.  My first goal is to better train the kids to pick up after themselves.  I'm not setting an end-date for that goal, by the way. 

♥M