When Elder was home for Thanksgiving, I warned him, “Either you clean your room or I will.”
We all know which one he chose.
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.
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.