The Truffle With Teens

As the holiday weekend comes to and end and we all get back into the swing of things, I look around and notice that it always looks as if a bomb has gone off in our home the week of Christmas.  I like to believe this is normal but I learned a long time ago that normal is just a setting on the dryer.

When they were younger, I tried to prepare myself for the day when one of the girl's friends would go home after a visit to our house and report what a sty the bedrooms of my dear children tended to stay.  It would not have surprised me in the slightest for there to be a knock on the door and lo and behold, a Child Services worker would be making a visit to our home.  I was certain they would then deem the children's private quarters unacceptable and threaten to haul the children off to a more suitable home.  I'm guessing a fictional home that had a place for everything and everything was in its place.

I have now gotten older and wiser.  After a few unannounced visits to other peoples homes, I now know if that were truly the case, there would not be the 10% unemployment issue here in Georgia.   It would take a mighty large staff to get us all whipped into shape.  In fact, if they caught me at the right time, like say, when I was discovering for the 100th time that every towel we own is squirreled away in Alex's closet and there is not a clean one to be found. I would gladly hand the children over!  Is it only our house, or does everyone have this problem with teenagers?

Looking back, I believe this started when she was about 12.  A towel wrapped around her head Iraqi style and one for her body.  She would go traipsing downstairs to her room (a place I lovingly refer to as the Bermuda Triangle) and the towels would not be seen again unless, A.  I confiscated them myself on wash day or B. She was threatened with bodily harm.

At one point, it had gotten so bad and I was finally tired of threatening and I told her that she was no longer allowed to have towels. She would have to make do with a washcloth.  If she couldn't get herself dry with that, well, she would have to air dry.  I  then told her that if all of the washcloths ended up in the black hole that was her bedroom, then she would be limited to 4 squares of toilet tissue to dry off with.  Boy, did I ever get "the look".  Do you know the one I speak of?

 After a couple of weeks using the washcloth as a towel she got the point and things got better.........for a  very-short-period-of-time.

Abby, in an effort to throw us off the scent of her own disaster of a bedroom, became our Miniature Repo Gal and would dazzle us with her prowess at excavating contraband from Alex's bedroom. She got so good at it, we felt like we had our own personal truffle hog!

Once, I told her I would give her a dollar for every piece of silverware she could bring me from her sisters room.  Abby walked away $12 richer that day and was very proud of herself.

Now, is Abby better at keeping her room clean than Alex?  NO!!!!! Not by a long shot.  Herein lies the difference: 

Abby completely surrounds herself with her own belongings and they are everywhere.  There is no visible method of organization, unless total chaos counts.  She is a hoarder and nooooo that is not a pile of tootsie roll wrappers, aka trash, that is a "collection" of some sort and a story for another day.

Alex, well, she is alot like Templeton the Rat from Charlottes Web.  She will push, pull or drag anything she takes a shine to down the stairs to her room.....I cringe everytime she asks to "borrow" something of mine.  I know I may as well kiss it goodbye as it will be the last time I see it. I gaze after her, as she walks away, prize in hand. All the while a vision of Templeton rolling a rotten goose egg, down the tunnel to his home under the pig trough runs through my mind....