Pottery Barn Reject

I used to really, really care what my kids' bedrooms looked like. As in everything was in its place, the bedding coordinated with the room decor, blah, blah, blah.

Clearly I have moved on, because this is what my kids' rooms look like now. I keep threatening to call Hoarders to come and shoot an episode in Zoe's room. It's that bad. 

I say that I used to care, but I'd be lying if I said it didn't make me twitchy. The problem is that I'm too exhausted to make myself care enough to do anything about it.

As in I need to sit in the room with my child and walk her through the decision making process.

In other words, be a parent.

I'm not normally one to shirk my duties, but I cannot deny that I have let this one slide. Imagine my surprise yesterday when both girls started moving furniture around and cleaning their rooms without me standing in the doorway yelling at them to "Pick this crap up!"

It was kind of like the whole potty training fiasco wherein I gave up and the second child had to potty train herself. I suck.

I do try, but my time is limited and I have ADD. Yes, I just diagnosed myself, but "SQUIRREL!"

If you've been visiting me for any length of time, you know I tend to jump around.

Like now. Changing the subject.

So, I've learned some things about middle schoolers that I had forgotten. Here's my running list.

1. Don't ever say "hi" to a middle school student in the hallway and acknowledge them by name. It is soooooo uncool to talk to teachers, and they will likely not acknowledge you. It's early in the year yet, but later on when I get to know them a little bit, I might select one lucky student to approach and say "How's my little Snooky Wookums?" Although super fun for me, it would be social death for a child in that awkward stage of life.

2. Many of the students get to school before I do, and I'm generally there an hour before school starts. They just cannot wait to get to their lockers and be seen loitering and looking nonchalant and bored. I laugh inside so as not to embarrass them, but the truth is that I remember what it's like to be that age and I commiserate with them.

3. It is physically impossible to make it from the gym to the faculty restroom, and finally to my room in one passing period. In a middle-age woman's body. I kid, but I have relented, and I now allow students to use the restroom as long as they follow my very strict Potty Pass Protocol. They must promise not to take my excellent hall pass into a stall or set it anywhere near a urinal, and they must wash their hands before retrieving it. They all want to know what to do if someone steals the pass, but I have assured them that the pass is too obnoxious and obtrusive to steal. They are very worried about this.

That's it for now. My brain is fried.

I leave you with this charming picture of Gunny Man.

My unsupervised and rampantly running wild children have figured out that they can dress the poor dog up in their clothes. I think he looks like Snoop Dog in this picture. Oh, excuse me, Snoop Lion.

It's Prince and the Unnameable Symbol all over again, isn't it?