Speak Science to Me

When Elder was home for Thanksgiving, I warned him, “Either you clean your room or I will.”

We all know which one he chose.

Of course.

I spent three days in his room.

I found 102 teeny tiny chess pieces, although I’m pretty sure he only had one teeny tiny chess set.

I collected a couple thousand teeny tiny Legos.

I found invitations from colleges that he had received over his last two years of high school. He had stuffed them into his bookcases.

Why?

I don’t even know.

I moved books from the floor into the newly cleared bookcases. I even had room for the book wedged between his mattress and footboard.

I found empty boxes for three phones, one Kindle, two Bibles, one computer, and a clock.

I even found instructions to a wood burning kit. I don’t remember him having a wood burning kit. I didn’t find a wood burning kit. Not too sure what happened there.

Last night, I looked at Younger and announced, “Your room is next.”

His eyes widening, he shook his head. “Homeostasis, Mom.” He patted the air with his palms. “Ho-me-o-sta-sis.”

Which I think is science for “Don’t touch my stuff.”

But he really should know…

I don’t speak science.

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