I gave the kids two hours to pick up their rooms.
“You only pick up your room. Take all of the toys and toss them in the Playroom if they’re soft toys. Please don’t throw the toys if they’re hard toys. Take any clothes and throw them in the laundry room. Shoes in the closet. Bedclothes and pillows on the bed.”
While Cara gnashed her teeth and wailed about the injustices of time limits, Ollie kept right on playing.
Every twenty minutes or so, I’d go down their hall and let them know how long they had left and remind them I would be picking up anything they didn’t take care of and there would be consequences for me having to clean their rooms.
Cara kept asking me if I was going to throw away their toys and I told her I wasn’t cruel.
“You’re too nice to puppies to be her!”
Guess it’ll be a couple more years before my daughter sees me as this:
Two hours went by and no rooms were sorted. In fact, pillow forts were built in the hallway and children were giggling and having a grand ole time.
I tossed the kids outside and got to work.
I was probably more like this:
I picked up the majority of toys in their rooms and then called Cara and Ollie to the rooms.
“Grab a trash bag and pick up what’s left.”
Cara picked up the trash and random fast-food toys with no complaints; her room looks great.
This is what I got from Ollie:
That’s alright. I still have all the toys from both of their rooms for quite some time to come: