This past year has often found me pondering an expedition to that Bermuda Triangle of the modern family home- The Boys’ Room. It has been an uphill battle to acquire energy and fortitude in the face of such a daunting and exhausting task but I have found faith in the notion that truly- the Gospel of Marie Kondo will go a long way in the lives of the denizens I intend to proselytize to soon.
Today tho has been an exercise in reining in my enthusiasm for just bulldozing the place and instead focusing on the intensely important knowledge to be gained from examining carefully the layers that comprise the environment these somewhat uncomplicated humans find themselves living in day to day. They go about their daily business completely unaware of the many bits and pieces being stepped on, broken, discarded and lost. The archeological dig I have planned, once executed, shall be truly amazing to behold.
After much trial and error in this foreign land I have discovered that stealth is necessary in order to truly discover the complexity that is the sedimentary layers of these citizens of The Boys Room. On cursory inspection, the top layer seems comprised of large containers and papers possibly hiding treasures within or underneath. There is also a mind boggling number of articles of clothing, many of which I have identified as actually unworn clean clothing that never saw the inside of a drawer between the most recent washing and what apparently will be the next washing. I shall have to arm myself- with boxes, baskets, brooms and dustpans.
So much to do to prepare for the first dig! So much to think about when approaching these fragile creatures I find myself interacting with about their belongings…I must find a way to reach them, or lose my sanity beneath the mounds of broken toys, casually drifting discarded worksheets and legos. Oh the legos!
Over a morning repast of coffee, Facebook and bacon, I have steeled myself for the inevitable whining from the locals. I have the tools of the trade and fear a mutiny wherein these tools will be spirited to locations unknown in order to prevent my marshaling of forces for the task at hand. And indeed, the cacophony of angry cries in opposition to the inevitable are deafening.
Abruptly out of fucks to give, I lay down the law with threats of no screen time for days, months YEARS even! And finally, FINALLY, my charges buckle under the potential loss of their sedentary privileges and take up arms against the tide of crap clogging their territory.
The dirty clothes bin is overflowing like some limp and smelly fabric volcano, dribbling lone socks and crusty underpants like some demented Hansel and Gretel breadcrumb trail leading the unwary traveler from hamper to pre-teen archeological dig and back again. The paper recycling bin has been emptied multiple times thru out the day as I pretend to make piles of “to keep” worksheets, projects, notes and doodles when in reality I am stuffing them surreptitiously into my pockets and wading out to recycle them one by one. How precious to these simple beings are the detriment of the year- forgotten monsters and lists, precarious pipe cleaners and toilet paper rolls enthusiastically glued to inside out cereal box bases and populating questionably constructed diorama tableaux. Do they raid the dump not 3 miles from their abode?!?! Where does it all come from?!?!
Much discussion ensues regarding why we do not live in layered crap from day to day- but obviously we do from time to time. How we can think about things and enjoy them only then to let them go – to make room for ourselves and for new towers and notes, doodles and collectibles. The sheer number of abandoned plastic soldiers – from the homeland, space, the era of the dinosaurs and every kind of era in between is abominable. If I only had a dollar for every time I hear, ” Oh! I remember this guy! He’s my favorite! We can’t throw/give him away!” I would be a VERY VERY RICH WOMAN…
On the morrow? Under the bed. A part of this small territory i have been dreading all along… there is no knowing what we will be unearthed. I will never personally set foot, crawling like a worm, in that area to fetch a long lost book or mutant moldy apple core. No indeed. But they will draw straws and we will tie a rope about the unlucky winner’s waist and hope for the best!
They won’t know what hit them.