Aselin

I'm an efficiency nut. If something in my life can be streamlined I'm all over it. I constantly wonder why we haven't come up with a washing machine/dryer in a single unit. Moving the clothes from one pod to another seems such a waste of my energy. (Hence, the odd aroma surrounding most of my family). I constantly talk to other drivers as we are, what I call "working together" for the common good. Common good being my ability to drive where I want, when I want and how fast I want without Minerva Nimrod driving her car like a drunken Fred Flintstone.

Generally my predisposition toward efficiency does not lend itself to parenting. Everywhere we go someone has lost something, forgotten something or needs to express something. Despite my pleas to prepare for departure, I've yet to leave home with my progeny all coherently arranged. I constantly point out they're wearing mis-matched shoes, have hair growing on their teeth or have forgotten pants. This being said, I am training them well.

Over our holiday break I took a chill pill and let everyone pretty much run their own schedule. Sleep in till three? Sure. Eat kettle corn and cheese whiz? No problem. Don't bathe for days? Just wear this handy air freshener around your neck and you're good to go! While this allowed for a mellow couple of weeks, we got absolutely NOTHING done. I do confess to getting up at night after the kids had gone to bed and cleaning out one of their drawers. I agree, I'm a blessing in their lives!

So imagine my delight when the night before school, (AKA schedule), was to resume my kids would not go to sleep. 8:30, still giggling.
9:00 Threatened once.

9:01 Greco-Roman Wrestling breaks out.

9:15 Threatened second time.

9:16 Face painting and opera singing.

9:30 Threatened a third time with "You can either choose to sleep or sweep the garage!!!!"

My kids should know better than to push me, but apparently they take after my side of the family.

So Sunday night at 9:45 p.m. guess where they were? Yep. I pulled the cars out of the garage, made sure everyone had either a push broom, sweep broom or an old paintbrush, and ordered them not come in until it was clean.

Sufficiently secure in the knowledge that this will be one of those painful parenting stories they will tell their children, I settle in to wait... And wait... And wait...

Suddenly the door swings open and I'm prepared for the weeping and wailing to present, when what to my wondering ears did I hear? Singing. Happy, harmonized three-voice singing.

What???? This is not the meaning of punishment!!!!! Like some sort of confused Mother Grinch perched on the mountaintop I'm completely perplexed. Suddenly "Cindy Lou Who" approaches me and says "Mommy, where's the Pine Sol? We're gonna mop the floor too.

I dumbly pointed and realized I had been foiled by a genius I can never beat.

Well, at least my garage floor is clean.