The other day I ventured upstairs to the kid's bedrooms to assess the damage see if anyone had cleaned their rooms lately.
I spent a few minutes cleaning Indy and Alex's bathroom and tidied up.
Then I made the mistake of crossing over into Ari's room. It's a good thing I don't have the health department on speed dial because I was so disgusted by her bathroom AND her bedroom that I had to drop everything and run away screaming.
I texted her at her little Gingerbread house decorating party and told her that her room needed some serious attention. She promised that it would get cleaned up right after I took her to the mall to do a little shopping. I equate this to negotiating with terrorists.
Fast forward a couple of hours later. I tell her that I will organize her closet while she cleans up her bedroom and scrubs her bathroom. I only commit to this because I have recently just spent some time organizing the closets of the other two little punks and I feel obligated to be "fair".
I should have known better because I spent the whole time getting her closet all perfect and lovely and all she did was try on all of her high heeled shoes and prance around her bedroom.
She did eventually clean her bathroom but not until I had finished my part of the clean-up and left the building.
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