Trying Tuesday

If yesterday was 'Not Me! Monday,' then today was 'Trying Tuesday.' Actually, it started last night. Z had made an unholy mess in the living room, dumping every toy out of every bin. At bed time, I told her to get it cleaned up while I headed up to put Q to bed. She shimmied upstairs just in time to brush her teeth and get her books.

When I got downstairs, I saw that she hadn't really cleaned up. She had just scooped most of the toys off the floor into the bins and hid them behind the ottoman. Arg!

Lather, rinse, repeat today at nap time. Except I think that she may have actually imported every toy from every sweatshops in the third world to create the mess in the living room. Maybe she imported them from another dimension. Anyway, I have never seen such a mess! I told her to get it cleaned up while I got Q down. 15 minutes later, I don't think a single toy had migrated to its spot. So I set a timer and told her that if the timer went off, she would lose a book (she gets three) and have time added to quiet time. The timer went off three times without the population of homeless toys decreasing one. bit.

So off she went to her room where she got no books and was banished until dark. I told her there would be no television, movies or treats until the toys were picked up. I guess all the alone time made an impression on her, because she cleaned up as soon as she come downstairs.

You would think that such a smart little girl would have learned her lesson by now. Nope. We get upstairs for bath time and, you guessed it, every toy is off of every shelf and deposited on her floor and bed. She had to clean it up before she could come to the tub. She piddled and played and almost missed out on bath time entirely, streaking in as I am getting Q into his jammies.

I get her bathed in record time (hubby was watching Q, but needed to get to bed himself) and went to her room to select books. She had done the same thing in her room that she had done downstairs. All of her stuff was swept off the floor and onto her window seat. Stuffed animals, dirty clothes, books, action figures all in a giant heap. So AGAIN I told her to get it cleaned up the right way while I got her brother down.

She howled and yelled her favorite phrase of the day, "But I don't WANT to clean up!" She stomped and cried and basically did everything possible to keep Q from going to sleep. When it was finally her turn for books, her room was cleaned the right way (this story makes me sound like Mommy Dearest, but my standards are actually quite reasonable: books on the shelf, animals on the seat and nothing on the floor) and we were able to have story time.

When we sat down, we had the discussion about making better choices, and consequences and responsibility. About how I didn't love doing laundry or cleaning up dog poop, but it was my responsibility so I did it. I thought I had really gotten through to her when she gave me a big hug and said, "But I didn't want to clean up." Like talking to a wall.