It has become a weekly ritual. Saturdays I threaten the boys to within an inch of their lives that they need to get their rooms cleaned by a certain hour or I will be up with an enormous trash bag and toss everything that is not in its rightful place. It usually takes tremendous cajoling, more than one vailed threat and lots of yelling, but the room gets cleaned.
This was not the day for them to try my patience. I woke with the general demeanor of an orgre this morning and it was NOT a day to mess with me. They were well warned. If the tone of my voice was not sufficient, the dagger-stares that shot from my eyes all morning should have tipped them off. I was trying my best to be patient while seething over inside. At the appointed hour, rather than hearing the frantic attempts at beating the clock, they boys were in the yard "helping" their dad with cleaning out all the dead remnants of our hard freeze back in January.
Remember, folks, today mom was truly an ogre.
Remember, they had been warned.
Remember, they knew they were up against the clock.
Today, the clock expired on them. It took 2 large, drum liner, 50-gallon sized bags, and I was ruthless and tossed nearly everything that was not nailed down. I was devoid of any emotional attachment that either the boys or I would have to any particular thing. It all went, with satisfying crashes, into the bag of doom.
I expected tantrums.
I expected cries and pleas and tears.
"gosh, mom, I think I like it better this way".
I saw that all playing out very differently in my head....